


Selfish Favors

by Turdle



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Humor, In which Riza Hawkeye remains in the military, Love, Political Campaigns, Politics, Romance, Roy Mustang the Dorkface Alchemist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turdle/pseuds/Turdle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy Mustang was fairly certain that Riza Hawkeye had no intentions of retiring just to settle down, and for that he loved her. However, when it appears that he’ll have to run for Office after Grumman's retirement, Roy proposes she become something more to him - a First Lady and a political partner. After all, every powerful man has an even more powerful woman standing behind him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a one-shot, and then a series of one-shots that has somewhat developed into a story. It takes place a few years after Roy's initial movement to restore Ishval, with Roy as a General who travels between Central, Eastern, and Ishval itself. I wrote it with the intention of deconstructing the cliche that Riza Hawkeye has to give up her career just so that she can become a proper wife. I think what follows speaks for itself. Thanks for reading!

The first time Fuhrer Grumman filed a transfer for one _Riza Hawkeye_ , Roy almost burned the man's office. It was a decidedly unpleasant and embarrassing showdown between the General and his commanding officer, but thankfully, no one had dared come in the room to witness it. Grumman knew he had requested a transfer for personal reasons, and so when his top General came in to dispute it, he knew it was also for personal reasons.

Military fraternization law didn't allow for officers and their subordinates to be married.

 _Grumman had decided to solve that problem._

Mustang was _infuriated._

His initial outburst into the office was met with a calm look, which served to raise the hackles of Roy even further. He was doing this _purposefully._

"You have no __right__ to transfer _my_ adjutant to another commanding officer-" He said, voice raising with each word.

Grumman raised a hand calmly, "-On the contrary General, as Fuhrer of this nation, I have every right to request transfers as I see fit."

"With all due respect sir, I see no _need-"_

 _"-_ And as her Grandfather, I wish to see my only remaining blood happy. Quite simply, General, I want _grandchildren._ I would like a family as much as the next man, and as I am getting older, I thought about speeding things up a little."

Mustang's hands tightened into fists. "-I fail to see how her transfer would produce this effect, _Sir."_

"Don't be ridiculous Mustang. Get __married__. Like I always told you to."

It was then that he nearly snapped, the transfer papers in his hands held up, and one moment away from being burned in front of the both of them. It was so rare now that he lost his temper like that but not her - _not threatening to take her away._

He knew that was what it would be. Marriage wasn't something he'd allowed himself to consider much, aside from in memory of Hughes, who'd wanted nothing more for him to settle down, and be happy. But with the prospect of it in sight, and the possibility in reach, he was more angry than ever. Without her as his subordinate, he'd maybe gain a wife, but he'd lose a partner. The thought of that was terrifying. And the panic that had gripped his heart must have been evident - as Grumman leaned back in surprise. The reaction wasn't one he'd expected, and certainly one he hadn't predicted. After years of orchestrating a relationship with his granddaughter through Roy, he supposed he'd forgotten to consider Roy's feelings on the matter. Of course, it made sense; he'd wanted Mustang to protect his only family, and now, he was attempting to take away Roy's most direct method of doing so.

"…General." He said quietly, _kindly_.

Roy froze, the realization of what he'd been doing dawning on him, and he lowered his gloved hand, tension slowly relaxing from his arms and shoulders, but gripping the papers tight enough to crumple them at the edges all the same.

"You love her." It wasn't a question. "And you wouldn't marry her if it meant losing her as your subordinate?"

Roy had no answer, and in response, coal black eyes narrowed.

"Surely you knew that I wouldn't have her transferred out of central?" Grumman probed.

The papers dropped to the floor. "I don't have anything to give her. We're not getting married."

"-You're a _General_ of Amestris, a restorer of Ishval, and you could more than take care of her and any family you had,"

"- _No._ "

Grumman stopped, this time shock crossing his face. He'd put up with the General's outbursts so far, but he'd always _assumed_ …but then, he didn't know the whole truth. He'd missed out on so much.

"I haven't reached my goal. I've _murdered_ people, killed _children_ and you'd have me bring one into this world without atoning for that fact?" Roy said, his voice wavering under the hard tones of certainty. "You think I have something to giveher, now?"

The silence in the room was suffocating. Roy avoided the gaze of the older man before him. Grumman watched in pure fascination, examining the way his protege's hands trembed in their white gloves for a moment before they tightened into fists. His next words were pained - "Please reconsider your request, Fuhrer Grumman, _Sir."_

The transfer filed was dropped before the end of the day, but it wouldn't be the last time fate would intervene on Roy's behalf.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lt. Jean Havoc is a bit of an asshole, but he's usually right.

Of all the men on his team, Roy had understood Jean Havoc the most. Not because Havoc had been a particularly complex man to figure out, or even because they had too much in common, but because Havoc was straightforward, and honest. Havoc liked the obvious - he wasn't the tech whiz Fuery was, or the solid thinker like Breda, and he certainly didn't have the imposing demeanor Falman had.

No, by all rights, Havoc was a bit of an asshole. And Roy appreciated that fact.

It hadn't changed one bit, Roy thought to himself as he ran across his subordinate on the street. The market for military grade weapons had gone significantly down, but then, he had regained use of his legs and was back in office. Havoc was currently to be found off duty chatting up a pretty young woman with a large chest and tiny waist.

She left without much prompting when he approached the outdoor cafe table, although Roy did gesture after her in curiosity.

"Her name's Linda," Havoc had replied easily, pulling another cigarette to his lips. Roy pulled out a gloved hand and lit the tip of it, pulling his fingers over each other as a small flame danced at his hands. "Thanks." Havoc mumbled through his teeth. "What brings you here?" He moved around the table of the cafe's outdoor patio, and stopped, blowing a cloud of smoke. "-Still going after my blondes, General?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Roy said, not bothering to grace Havoc with a perplexed look.

"Bullshit you don't." Havoc said happily. "Half the women you dated in Central and Eastern were cover. The other half were all the same. You've got a type, General."

While Roy hadn't really slept with the entire female population of central, he'd had a string of non-serious girlfriends since his original posting in Eastern. They were all blonde from what he could remember - tall, short, thin or thick, but all blonde. He'd see them maybe once or twice, and then move on, always disappointed they were lacking in information or helpfulness.

"A type?" He didn't know why he was playing along.

"Sure. I like tits. You like blondes." He gestured, squeezing the air. Roy rolled his eyes, but hesitated as Havoc continued. "'dunno boss, you always seemed a little serious for all your dating though. You don't take it seriously." He puffed on his cigarette again in thought. He unfortunately had a point, and Roy tried not to shift uncomfortably where he stood.

"At any rate, I don't have time to date anymore, and haven't for awhile. And I'm certainly not stealing any of your slim pickings." Roy said dryly.

Havoc snorted. "Do us all a favor boss and find someone permanent so I don't have to keep hearing about Amestris' most _eligible_ bachelor."

"If the women like me better than you, that's your problem, Lieutenant." And for added measure he added, "Get back to work."

"It's the weekend."

Roy shrugged, and turned, "Your report's still due Monday morning on my desk", leaving Havoc to himself and his table on the street. The long walk back to his apartments was filled with the memories of far too many names and faces, each one the same, and yet not at all close to what he had been looking for. There was only one person who was what he was looking for, and for the moment - yet again - he'd have to put looking for it off. And for the countless time in his adult life, Roy Mustang wondered briefly if he believed in a moment where he'd be able to climb to the top without sacrificing himself in the process. He was never quiet sure if he believed it could happen.

And then, for the countless time in his adult life, he went back to tactically planning his every move until that moment arose. At some point, things would change, and when they did, he'd have to be ready. He just had to hope that they would change in his favor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gracia and Elysia Hughes fill the 'nagging' gap that Maes Hughes left behind.

Elysia Hughes was a little taller, but no less adorable than she had been a few years earlier: face round and bright, with her blonde hair pulled back into a small bun. She stood waiting on the steps of her dance studio, perfectly balanced on tiptoe in dance shoes. With arms raised in the air, she gave a wobbly spin, practicing her pirouettes to pass the time.

She stopped halfway through her spin, and broke into a toothy grin as she spied her ride watching quietly. "Uncle Roy!"

He paused, and gave a weak smile as he leaned against his black car. "Hey Kiddo. Hop in, we've got to take you home." There was something good about meeting someone's expectations, even if they were as small as being picked up on time. He pulled open the car door, and waited for the blur of pink to settle into his back seat. When he sat in the driver's seat, he heard an audible intake of breath, and he paused, waiting for Elysia to begin.

"—Today we're learning spins, an' it makes me dizzy, but the teacher says if we don't cross our eyes, and we look at one point the world won't be so wobbly when we stop, and Mama's making me the costume I need for next week, and we're gon' be butterflies and you're still coming, aren't you Uncle Roy?"

Five years ago, Roy Mustang would've left this all to Hughes, wouldn't have been caught trying to listen to an enthused eight year old, but somehow he found himself rather used to Elysia's ability to speak without breathing. Her father had certainly given him years of practice in preparation.

"Of course. Saturday night, right?" He asked softly, looking in his rear view mirror.

"Right!"

With Hughes gone, and the takeover of Central over, Roy had done the only thing he could do - he'd stepped in. It'd happened slowly, after Gracia got into contact with him after the promised day where she'd managed to finally corner Roy into having a conversation. It had been something he'd wanted to avoid, in part because he felt responsible for the death of her husband, and in part because he'd wanted nothing more than to avoid the pain of confrontation. Gracia had set about making sure that he knew she didn't blame him, couldn't really, for Hughes being so damned good at his job.

Hughes would've wanted her to see him to the top, and remaining an anchor while he worked in Ishval was only the beginning of that. Elysia, she had casually mentioned, no longer had a father to boast over her to the entire military. Roy had never picked up Hughes' habit of bragging, but after some time, he'd started seeing Elysia during his visits in Central, and when he'd caught wind of her primary school's jobs day, had offered to come in to talk about being a General.

It felt strange to present after the local grocer, but quietly normal.

The general chatter of the little girl in the backseat of his car continued the full drive to her home, with Roy chiming in between Elysia's rare pauses for air. He wasn't sure what exactly he said, but he kept the conversation going as usual, keeping his eyes on the road as he did so. When they arrived at her house, he barely had time to park before she was pressed up against the car door, and bounding up to the front steps of the house, with Roy following calmly after.

This was the part he dreaded. Elysia had no idea he'd failed her just yet, but her mother was less unaware, observing his solemn demeanor carefully as she greeted her daughter, scooping her up into a hug.

"Tea, Roy?" She asked, as he approached the door.

"Something stronger, if you have it." He said honestly, digging his hands into his pockets.

"Coffee then." She said, turning back to Elysia. "Come on, you need to start your homework before dinner."

"But Mom—"

"-No buts. Head upstairs and get to work. Uncle Roy needs to talk to me."

The announcement was met with a pout, but Elysia sighed and trudged up the stairs, dragging her feet loudly as she did so. Gracia paused, and waited to hear her daughter's footsteps fade out of hearing range before she turned to Roy, and beckoned him in. "What's the matter, Roy?"

He sighed. There was no cutting corners. Gracia moved to start a pot of coffee, adding her ground beans to the coffee maker. "I got a classified notice from our Fuhrer this afternoon."

"Oh?" Gracia said, keeping the interest from creeping into her voice with careful measure, as she checked the pot on her stove.

"You didn't hear this," He prefaced with, giving her a serious look before he began fiddling with his gloves.

"Of course," She replied, giving the stew a clockwise stir, before adding salt. Years of being married to a man in Internal Affairs and Intelligence had prepared her for the easy denials of having ever heard _anything_ she shouldn't have. Still, she was listening with a keen ear, waiting for him to continue.

"I've been given a week's notice before my honorable discharge is announced to my team."

Her spoon clattered onto the counter, and she turned, and gave him a look, confusion crossing her face. He buried his face in his hands. "Grumman is giving me an honorable discharge, now that Ishval's more stable. My team will be split up again, and he's going to retire in another year or so, that bastard."

"Oh, Roy." Gracia said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Have you told Riza yet?"

"No. I have orders not to say anything."

"Roy…"

He felt the remaining energy in his body leave him, and he leaned heavily against the counter.

"Grumman is retiring? And he didn't name you as his successor? Or General Armstrong?"

He started laughing, feeling the pain bubble up in dry humor as he bent over. "No. Amestris is going to be a democracy after he leaves. We're going to elect a head of the military who can oversee the Parliament-- a President of Amestris."

Gracia sat down at her dining table quietly, not bothering to look at Roy as she did so. After his last laugh died, she quietly stared into her glass of water, waiting for the right words to come to her. "…A President? We're finally becoming a democracy?"

He didn't answer, and instead, merely nodded numbly. Roy slid against the counters, collapsing to a seat on the floor, and leaning against her cupboards.

"Roy, you have to run." She looked over her shoulder at his seat on her tile. "This is your chance to be elected our leader-"

"-I was supposed to take over after he retired, dammit." He said, his voice raising slightly before Gracia glared at him, eying the door to the kitchen for small eyes and ears.

"You listen to me, Roy Mustang, I don't give a damn what was _supposed_ to happen. This is how you can lead the country. You can't run for President from the inside of the military and say it's a free election." She fired back, looking at the puddle of Amestrian military uniform. "It's what Hughes would have wanted. He always thought you'd have done the right thing, and tried to reconcile an elected leader who headed the military with the Parliament."

Roy was silent, and the scent of coffee began to fill the kitchen.

Gracia continued. "You'd make an excellent politician," She took a sip of her water, calculating her words. "You're charismatic Roy, and a War hero, who has protected Amestris from destruction and started reparations for Ishval. Everyone knows you're an outstanding alchemist, you've served your country for years, and you're still young…"

He grunted in response, the news still sinking in now that he'd stopped smiling for show. He wasn't going to be a General by the end of the week. His state certification would remain, but he would no longer be actively drafted into the military.

It was terrifying to think that he'd never done anything else with his life before.

"…You're going to need to settle down, of course."

"-What?"

"Roy, the intelligence wives keep in touch with me. They all like you well enough, but you don't have a woman to support you. You don't seem stable - you're dating around, and people want to see a mature man with his priorities in order. If you're going to be a politician…"

He looked up from his hands, and stared at the widow of his best friend agape. "Aren't you more concerned about the fact that I just lost my job?" Not something as ridiculous as marriage concerning a few military wives.

"Roy, run for President. But even Fuhrer Bradley had a wife to help him. Find a wife. You're going to need a partner in all this."

He blinked, noticing that the coffee had stopped brewing. Gracia stood, and poured him a cup, offering him a mug from where he sat.

"This is crazy." He breathed, taking the coffee from her.

"Maybe." She conceded. "But this is the way to do this Roy. Trust me."

The rest of the night involved a rather quiet dinner affair aside from Elicia, who frequently was scolded by her mother for talking with her mouth full. He said his goodbyes before it got too late for Elicia, and drove home, his ride made in utter and complete was no longer a General of the Amestrian Military. And he was going to have to run for President.

What he saw when he opened his apartment doors froze him to his spot.

" _Lieutenant?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (With some excessive deliberation on how I was going to address having a President and a Parliament, I looked to the Weimar Republic:
> 
> The Weimar Constitution created a semi-presidential system in which power was divided between the President, a cabinet and a parliament. The President enjoyed far greater power than the current president and had an active political role, rather than a largely ceremonial one. The President had authority to appoint the Chancellor and could dismiss the entire cabinet at any time. All bills had to receive the signature of the president to become law and, although he did not have an absolute veto on legislation, he could insist that a law be submitted for the approval of voters in a referendum. The president also had authority to dissolve the Reichstag, conduct foreign affairs, and command the armed forces. Article 48 of the constitution also provided the president sweeping powers in the event of a crisis. If there was a threat to "public order and security" he could legislate by decree and suspend civil rights. Unlike the current President of Germany, the Weimar constitution provided that the president be directly elected and serve a seven-year term. The election involved a form of the two-round system.
> 
> If you're interested in the nitty gritty of it, that's going to be the basis of Roy's campaign, but I doubt I'll stick to it perfectly.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riza places the Queen behind the King, planning to join the campaign.

He's in so much shock at her presence that she has time to explain, fairly seriously, how she broke into his apartment. She knows where he keeps his spare key in his office desk, and she'd stayed late that evening at the office.

"Gracia called." fills in the rest of the information gaps, leaving Roy to piece it all together. "She said it was important I be here, sir."

Roy doesn't know how to begin to explain, can't comprehend the fact that his Lieutenant is in his apartment doorway, standing there with a face that almost doesn't betray her worry. She has one brow furrowed, and that's enough to show that she's more than a little concerned. Riza's emotions are tempered but they run deep underneath the surface, and he knows she is holding back.

He waves her into his dining room. He doesn't know if she's already explored the new flat that he lives in while he's in Central, and he's only been to her apartment once, when they needed to stop and change out into uniform dress before a mission in Central Command. Their homes in Eastern are also new enough that they would be unfamiliar grounds, as they've only recently been able to leave Ishval for any period of time. She gives no indication that she is familiar with or surprised by his small dining room table, and the two chairs that are pushed up against it. He is a man who likes to be of fine appearances, but when it comes right down to it, the luxuries he's used to have always been a little worn around the edges, and filling his home with finery always seemed out of place. Practicality comes before pomp, and everything comes before himself.

He asks her to wait there, knowing she won't take a seat until he's either explained himself, or come back, or ordered her to sit. At the moment, he doesn't much care that she's waiting. Roy maneuvers into his study, which is stuffed from the floor to the ceiling with notes, books, and maps. He has small, unreadable handwriting that doesn't reflect his bold and calculating personality. In alchemy, as in politics, he is secretive, and maybe even paranoid. Roy begins pulling books off the shelves - books written in other languages, published in Xing, or in Drachma, books that he decidedly shouldn't have owned before the promised day, and did. Some have been sent from Alphonse, and others from Edward, though his forbidden library had always been quite extensive. Reports and records of Ishval are still packed in his room, and there are also files wound tightly closed with string from when he discovered Sheska knew the entire Central library by heart. There were laws, pages and pages of them that he read in his spare time, and journals that reflected the information he'd learned in diary format, appearing to detail the women he'd slept with, dated, or bought dinner for. Then there are the maps - ones he'd paid small fortunes to procure throughout the years.

He grabs them all, knowing he's leaving behind things he'll want to reference, but unable to carry it all at once.

He dumps it on the table, rolling out the map of Amestris on the very top of the pile.

"I'm being discharged. By the end of the week." He swallowed, his gaze falling on Central on the map. It was the first thing he could say. It's the only thing he can manage to say, because it means everything they have carefully constructed together has utterly and completely fallen apart. "After friday evening, you will no longer be under my command."

And maybe for the first time in a long time, Roy is able to witness Riza Hawkeye. The last time he saw her, a woman desperate to be herself, was when she turned and demanded her burn her. Now, she is more than just a Lieutenant, he realizes. She is his adjutant, and she's had her own goals for far too long to let them be kicked out from under her. Something like fire flashes in her eyes at the very prospect of it.

"Sir, with all due respect, I don't understand." She stands in a ready position, with the posture of a soldier. But Roy knows this is the way she looks when she's digging in her heels on him.

"Fuhrer Grumman is issuing me an honorable discharge, and will appropriate my team accordingly."

"No, Sir. I'm not in the military to _not_ be under your command." She replies evenly, giving him a hard and stubborn look. Her brown eyes are set, and her lips drawn. "I have your back, General." Riza adds, and Roy knows that she doesn't only mean it as a sign of reassurance. The agreement was that if he fell off the path, she would shoot him. He is a week away from falling.

"Roy." He blurts out. "You should get used to calling me Roy." It's an awkward sentence - being called Colonel or General has always been more intimate than saying Roy, but he knows that the titles will fall away soon. She looks discomfited. Anyone would feel uncomfortable knowing they might have to shoot a friend in the back. A superior officer is one thing, but using first names means finality, and is too close for comfort. She is ignoring him because she's desperately figuring out how to avoid doing this. He doesn't recall ever having used first names between the two of them aside from the one time he addressed her as Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye as he read from her file. For the first time, he realizes he's just as unpracticed in informalities as she is, and their names stick like foreign objects in their mouths. He can't relax the tension anymore than he can relax her stance.

The room is silent, and they have no idea what to do with each other.

Roy breaks the silence again. "Grumman is retiring." With this, he has her back again, brown eyes calculating, inspecting every map, notebook, and book he's laid out on the table.

"In his place, I'm going to be running for political office." He can see her shoulders tensing under the black fabric of her shirt as she leans forwards, inspecting the map. "If you follow me, you'll likely have to leave the military as well." Roy cautions, noting that just because there isn't a strap of guns across her back doesn't mean his sniper and personal aide isn't armed.

She's already pulling out his journals, reading the women's names and fitting together the codes. Perhaps it was because they'd used it together so many times, and perhaps it was because she knew him too well, but he didn't bother to explain that Amestris was Amelia and that the rest of the names listed weren't real dates. He didn't care to talk about the actual other women with her. They'd never really had a conversation about their personal lives beyond the polite Monday morning small talk over paperwork.

She realizes he's waiting for a response, and then almost dignifies him with a stony glare. "I said I would follow you through hell, Sir, a campaign isn't much different." She leans again, and he catches the top of her tattoos, in a spot that used to be covered by long golden hair. Her tone of voice is so firm that he feels foolish for waiting for her to respond - she is confident that they will be doing this. There is no question they will campaign, especially because she knows as well as he does that he can't do it without her.

"I'm going to need benefactors, a campaign trail, a retinue of body guards, and you're going to have to turn in your state issued guns."

Riza flinched visibly, and he almost wanted to laugh. While the Lieutenant would never admit to being fond of her guns, she was certainly used to each one of them. They were well maintained at all times, and an important part in her every day dress. A Hawkeye without her weapons on hand was not a woman he suspected who would be very comfortable.

"You'll have new ones." He promised. "Falman, Havoc, Fuery, and Breda can do as they please, but I need you on my trail…" He says, but it's a lie of course. He's damn attached to them all and he refuses to give them up if he can help it. When they find out, he'll tell them his plan, the one that is only now working itself into a reality after Gracia forced him to see it. It tickles his imagination to think of himself as a democratically elected President with his men in tow.

He looks at Riza, and leans, invading her personal space in order to show her something in his notes. To point out his favors that can be called in, and the people he knows who could fund something like this. She doesn't move, and instead seems to listen and watch and formulate plans in her head.

"I'm going to request a discharge. I know Havoc will follow, he doesn't much care for the desk work with his cane. Breda's a good soldier, but will prefer to stay with you. Fuery will consider it, and Falman has the best chance of staying in, but if he decides to leave, then the team will be intact." She spies something out of the corner of her eyes, and he whole face takes in the recognition. Before he can figure out what she's seen, she is moving from the table, and into the rest of his kitchen, stopping in front of his fridge. Riza pulls down a small checkered case, decorated with green and tan squares. It is his chess set, and she's popped it open before she arrives back at his table.

She shoves aside the black pieces in the inside of the box, and plucks out the whites, placing the king on the map of Amestris. She adds the knight with such conviction that he wonders why she is so sure of Havoc's following along. Maybe it's because he has the easiest chance of leaving. She nudges the rook in the side, and then places the bishop and the pawn off to the side of the map. For the moment, they are unknowns.

Riza places the Queen behind the King.

Then she begins to move the pieces. "Second Lieutenant Havoc is from our base in Eastern, as well as myself. However, I have better connections in the Northeast, and North. The General Olivier had no objections to Warrant Officer Falman at Briggs, and is the head of the Armstrong family." The Knight is placed in Eastern, and she pushes herself to the North.

"Breda is most versed in the South, and Falman and Fuery would be best suited to the North-East." She hovers their pieces by the side of the map. "You grew up in Central."

Roy isn't quite sure what she's doing so he looks up at her, and she reads the questioning in his eyes. "A sniper knows her battlegrounds before she chooses a place from which to shoot." Riza explains, letting the tactics of battle stratagem as opposed to politicking run through her head. "If you were to be elected, you'd need men on the ground who knew each area. The Fuhrer goes on tour, and it stands to reason you, and any other candidate would do so as well."

He smiles.

From there out, they are pouring over books, and letters, and notes. Riza takes dutiful notes of who owes them favors, how far, and by how much. They haul out numbers, bank accounts, and coffee to keep them going. Roy brings up old friends, new friends, and old money. There is something to be said for the Madame's network and the amount of money she truly has stockpiled away, but they both know it won't compare to any patronage from a real old Amestrian family. They talk about the pros and cons of approaching different Generals, about his discharge salary, about expenses. They bring up the Elrics, politics with Xing and Drachma and what is left of Ishval. They have a second cup of coffee, this time with sugar and it is less bitter but they are too busy to notice or care when it comes to their third cup. Roy cannot help but think this is the most normal thing that has happened to him all day.

This used to be a regular ritual - working late sleepless nights in apartments or safehouses. Back then their days were full of actual work, and his evenings were full of pretending to be a playboy, leaving the dead of night as the only time they had to plan a coup d'etat. When she realizes they are bringing back this tradition of sorts she gives him a knowing look.

It must be close to 1:30 in the morning before he brings up what Gracia had said to him hours before. After mulling it over, he can't say he disagrees. As a Presidential candidate, he's going to need a wife.

"Someone who can handle the campaign," He reasons out for her.

"-For political reasons?" Riza asks, drawing a neat line under the list of campaign advising spots that he'll need to fill. She writes out in neat, squared out handwriting: First Lady.

"Gracia said that I need to settle down to appeal to the family voters. I don't think she's wrong."

Hawkeye nods, the exhaustion wearing at her eyes for a moment before she fights back a yawn. "She'll need to be someone you can trust." She writes out the word trustworthy in the blank space of her paper. "I think loyalty would be an excellent trait."

Roy nods. "Intelligent."

She writes it down. "Perhaps hardworking. You don't finish things until you're pushed." She says with a small self-satisfied grin at the jibe.

Roy lets it go. "-Honest. Educated…"

"-Mature, stable,"

"- _Beautiful_ -"

"-well mannered, strong,"

"-No, sexy-"

"- conservative, organized, a role model,"

"-confident-"

"-Someone who has agreeable politics,"

"-Someone that Elysia likes-"

"-A record of public service…"

"-And _blonde_." Roy adds emphatically, thinking of Havoc's words some months ago before the Lieutenant's hand stops dancing from the recording of her notes. She pauses to look over the list, and falls silent. There had been times in her life before when she had things to say, and had thought better of it, but this is the first time she has truly been at a loss for words to speak.

He looks at her and then back at the paper. He only knows two women who could meet the requirements on this ruthlessly practical list drawn up by the Lieutenant, and one of them is his best friend's widow. That leaves them with one other option.

Riza stands too quickly and sways on the spot from exhaustion before she grips the end of the dining room table.

"I think it's best we turn in." She announces, avoiding eye contact.

He nods too soon, and takes a step back. "Yes, of course." He puts his coffee mug in the sink, and moves out of her way so that she can push past him and leave the dining room. All of a sudden the room that is too big for one person is too cramped for two. Her shoulders brush against him and he offers up a simple - "Goodnight, Lieutenant."

She pauses in the doorway of his kitchen, and then turns, hesitating for a single moment, as if she is weighing her next move inside her head. "- _Riza_." She offers, no longer looking tired, but instead calm. "Goodnight, Roy." Riza adds, before she steps out of the room, and begins to set herself up in his living room, where she will sleep alone for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

There's something ironic about it, Roy thinks, as he finds himself making eggs for breakfast. There is an undoubtedly awkward tension hanging in the kitchen of his apartment as he watches Riza pull her golden hair up into its usual standard clip. It would be something notable, understandable even, if he was making a 'morning after' breakfast, but the fact of the matter is, they haven't slept together, and by all rights, they shouldn't be trying very hard to avoid each other's gaze.

The list is still lying on the dining room table.

In any other circumstance, this would be funny: "Roy Mustang's Perfect Wife List". But now, as it stands as "Roy Mustang's Political Future", he's afraid to go near it and re-read the list.

He doesn't have much of an excuse after the eggs are suddenly sitting in the pan scrambled.

"I made breakfast." Roy announces, finally turning in time to catch Riza adjusting the holsters of her guns around her waist and the second holster around her chest. The black fabric of her undershirt rides up for a moment before she looks back over at him. Business as usual.

"Thank you." She says with a curt nod.

The morning in the office is populated by too much busywork and delegating for much of anything to occur, much less for Roy to dwell too much on his impending discharge announcement, but when lunch rolls around, everyone clears out except for himself, and Riza.

"About last night..." Roy tries, instantly regretting his phrasing. He hadn't meant to imply things, and even though the office was currently empty for a lunch break, it simply wouldn't do to have to explain to anyone who might overhear on accident. "-our plans, I mean." He corrected, finding himself stumbling over the words as he looked at an expectant Riza.

Riza. Not Hawkeye. Not Lieutenant. Just Riza.

"Yes?"

"I've been thinking,"

"As have I." She replies, looking at him with the same straightforwards honey gaze.

"I've come to a conclusion," He says, feeling the nerve to say anything fleeing him very quickly.

"I've come to one as well,"

"-I was thinking, that for the good of the Nation-"

"-for the good of your presidential campaign,"

"-it's the logical thing to do,"

"-I agree completely." She says.

Something flips his world inside out.

"Really?" Roy asks, unable to hide the shock from his voice. He had been thinking over the idea the entire morning but now that he's actually suggested it —

He catches the look on Riza's face. He can't tell if she's offended or just exasperated, but a flicker of emotion shows in her eyes, and she sets her jaw. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Of course I am," He cautioned. "It's just that if you do this, there's no going back."

"There was never any going back, Roy." His stomach flips, and he realizes she's only said his name in the moments where it seemed absolutely necessary to remind him that things were changing. They were altering their world, and this seemed like the very rocking foundation of it all. He recalls suddenly, breakfast, and the simple moments of her existing within his rooms - an act that has happened many times before, but never like today. If things go according to plan, she will be doing this every day.

Riza stares at him, with the same expression she always wears when he doesn't bother to think things through. Normally it goes hand in hand with paperwork, or trying to fight in the rain, but now he can tell where it comes from.

There's never any going back with them.

"I've already dedicated my life to you, and if you think that this arrangement wouldn't work, then perhaps you should find someone else. This is about the future of the country, and I can manage your campaign either way."

"No." He says, suddenly and firmly enough to startle her. The fact of the matter is, he can't find anyone else. There would never be anyone who could replace the sturdy blonde in front of him with her .45s and her no-nonsense military posture. And while he'd give anything to touch her right now, even as alone as they are, he can't bring himself to do it. "I just wanted to be sure."

She gives him a look.

He pushes forwards. "This is different from everything else."

"This is a legal agreement." She pushes back. "That's it."

Roy would argue with her, but he knows that the office is neither the time nor place to do it. It's so much more than that, but they're risking being walked in on, and he hasn't told the team yet about his discharge. He was going to wait for lunch to gather everyone and explain what was going on, mostly because he had wanted the morning to carry on as usual. He knows things will be tense as soon as he says something. No one is looking forward to this. But even now, he is recalculating - planning to tell them later. Maybe tomorrow. Just not yet.

It's not _just_ a legal agreement, after all.

"-Will you go to dinner with me?" He tries, seeking a middle ground.

"Dinner?" It's obvious from her flickering expression that she's trying to figure this out, to figure him out for once. Normally she knows everything in his head, but he has to admit, even with as much as she knows, she can't possibly figure out what he doesn't yet understand himself.

"We can't discuss this here. Come to dinner with me." Plaintive, but it has her shifting her stance. The effect is subtle, but she's no longer quite so aggressive with him, and her shoulders have relaxed a fraction of an inch.

"After 7 o'clock." Riza replies, calmly. "I'll need to change."

"Of course," Roy replies, as she begins to side step him, and straighten a pile of paperwork on his desk. "-it's a date." He affirms, and while he doesn't catch the expression on her face because she's turned away, she hesitates before nodding.

"A date." Riza agrees, before turning on her heel and heading to lunch.

He collapses into his desk chair, and eats in the office, weary of following her into the mess hall.

The rest of the afternoon is not any better.

It's not simply that he's simultaneously trying to avoid her gaze and trying to watch her at the same time, or even that he's mentally figuring out where to eat dinner as he sits and mindlessly pushes paperwork, it is the combination of everything that has him tapping his pen gently against the desktop. The rest of the day is filled with 'sir' and 'General' and moments where he almost brushes her hands in front of everyone.

It's hardly any easier to walk up to her apartment building and wait for her to come out at precisely 7. What stops him is when she comes out, and is no longer just his Lieutenant, but a woman who is unfairly radiant.

Her hair is still up, but the brown clip has changed to a gold one, that shines against her blonde hair. She is wearing a fitted black shirt, and a matching skirt that flares out around her long legs. He is surprised to note she carries the same grace in heels as she does combat boots, and she is wearing a single strand of pearls. It suits her, he thinks, polished, understated, but no less beautiful.

He just might marry her.

The thought pushes blood into his heart at a slightly faster rate, and he steps forwards, in his own civilian wear. He can tell she is watching him in equal measure - they have dressed like this before, but never for each other's benefit. He can't help but hope that the dinner jacket he is wearing is just as appealing to her as it has been to other women.

"You look," He says, searching for the most appropriate word, denying stunning, beautiful, and lovely, as all perhaps a bit much, and ending awkwardly with, "-nice."

"Thank you," she replies, and he sees a hint of a smile grace her features before she walks to his car, and gets into the passenger seat. The car ride is mostly silent, and it's amusing really, because normally Roy is short of nothing to talk about. But when he pulls in to park at an upscale restaurant just down the street from his own apartment building, he realizes that it's been a comfortable silence, at the very least.

It doesn't last long. "I have a reservation, Chef Tom owes me a big favor." He explains, guiding Riza to the front door of Tom Tamline's restaurant. The big favor is of course, due to the outstanding patronage of his establishment Roy has given him through years stationed in Central, but he doesn't mention it.

It's obvious enough how he would gain such a big favor to a place that normally has a longer waiting list as soon as they step inside. Roy wishes he could regret choosing this restaurant, but it was close to his own home, and easy enough to get a table at that it almost outweighs the fact that Tamline's is too romantic for this dinner. There is a piano playing in the corner of the main room, and every table is lit by candlelight, and Roy remembers that while he's patronized the place many times before, it has always been in instances where he needed private tables for information exchange. The soft music and sweet lighting had never bothered him then, but now it feels over the top.

Riza however, says nothing.

The waiter on the other hand, seats them at a private booth, and smiles so widely that Roy can see his molars flashed in his grin. "Special occasion?"

Riza nods. "Yes."

"Excellent! Would you like to start with Champagne?"

Roy realizes he's supposed to say something. "Perhaps a Merlot, first?" He names off a brand that he knows from experience is in house, and suggests the proper vintage, before the waiter is off and returns with two glasses and a bottle in hand.

The man is far too expectant looking for Roy's tastes, but Riza seems to be amused by the waiter's constant smiles, and graciously accepts her glass when it is handed to her and then the wine is whisked away.

"I thought it would be good to talk about this." Roy begins, before he takes a reassuring sip of the wine. "Maybe outside of work."

"-About the conclusion you've come to about getting married?" Riza asks, watching him.

"-About that." He concedes. "We should discuss this,"

"-I already agreed it was the most logical plan, sir." The slip is unintentional, but the fact of the matter is she still isn't entirely used to calling him 'Roy'.

"But there are details to work out, things to discuss…" He tries, hoping to ease the conversation into a more conductive direction. Riza, for her part, decides to take the reigns entirely.

"Like sex."

The wine that Roy had resting on his tongue itches as he splutters and nearly chokes on it. "What?"

"We already agree on religion, and politics," Riza says thoughtfully, as if it is the most natural thing in the world to bring up. Casually. "-which leaves sex, children, and money."

He stares.

"I don't care about money." She adds, with the same clipped tones she uses after having fired a gun. "I know how to live without it." Riza says, and he suddenly recalls a decrepit manor that she had tried to keep in some semblance of a shape, even despite it slowly falling apart around her and her father.

No, despite what she thinks, he thinks money is very important, as long as it means keeping her taken care of. They need a place to live that isn't riddled with mold or cracks, and even without his General's salary, he believes he can do this much. Especially if there are kids-

"-Kids?" He finds himself asking, because now at this point, this has gone much deeper than he considered before, and he's shocked.

"I'm not opposed to the idea." She says, looking over her menu briefly before choosing something (it had better not be the cheapest thing on the menu ) and folding it back up again. "But I don't think we should have any right away. I'd prefer to keep my edge on the campaign trail."

He's listening, but the words are sinking their teeth into mental images that he is conjuring of the woman before him. He's been so sure for so long that children would be unwise to say the least, that he never really considered the possibility of doing anything but try to avoid them. Does he even deserve to have any? He can still recall children, huddled, and small, and dead in Ishval, and he knows that he's not sure he can start a process of pure creation with his hands, and yet-

\- they would have his black hair, and her brown eyes. Maybe her face, and his smile, and he can't help but think that something about her would lend to the 'glow' of that sort of thing.

This, his brain has decided without his consent.

"-still, we're not young, anymore."

"You're hardly old." Roy counters with, looking over at her.

"-it's something we'd need to decide." She says, leveling with him firmly.

"Now?" He asks, but not before the waiter sweeps in with his too obvious grinning, and comes to take their orders. It's becoming more and more obvious that the waiter is waiting for him to do something, and isn't going to be satisfied until it happens. It's also becoming obvious that Roy looks like a man who's lost his nerve. It's not so far from the truth.

When Riza finishes ordering, Roy stumbles over his order, asking for the champagne to be brought out with dinner. With the way things are going, he could really use more alcohol in his system.

The man leaves finally, and Riza's gazes flicks back over to Roy. "Maybe after you have time to think about it." She says, before taking a sip of her wine. "-am I missing anything?"

His wine glass is fully drained, for the moment. "Missing anything?"

"You wanted to come here to discuss this with me. I don't know what else you'd want to discuss." She states simply, absently touching the strand of pearls that graces her throat. She has a graceful neck broken only by a faded scar, and a stunning amount of feminine poise that he has never realized before. There are so many things that he knows he's seen and recognized before, but never stopped to think about her - and he wonders how much he's overlooked.

"Neither of us are particularly well versed in this subject." He points out, thinking back to her obsessive father, and his Aunt - a woman he thought of as wonderful, but certainly not conventional. Most people weren't raised by the Madame of a brothel.

"-but this isn't about us." Riza's glass is also now empty, and he refills it without thinking. There's something about the action that feels natural, and he knows a few things about wining and dining women, if nothing else. This is what he is comfortable with.

Not marriage. "-isn't it?"

She falls silent as she sips her wine in thought. "Us has always been about Amestris."

"Amestris won't have to wake up to me every morning."

"They will if you become President." She says, hiding the edge of a smile in her lips. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No-no, it's just…"

"…just?"

"-Can we be married? That's more than running a country together, or a campaign."

"I already know all your habits. I know about everything you've ever done, or didn't do." She says, looking at his hands, and then back at her own. Not only did she know, she'd witnesses most of it first hand. "-I know how you take your coffee in the morning, what cologne you wear, the last time you called your mother, and what foods you refuse to eat on principle. And you know everything about me." She pauses, breathing in and out as if the words weigh heavily. "-Who else am I supposed to share that with?"

He doesn't have a response that seems fitting, so when the violinist strolls over to their table and begins to serenade them, he takes the opportunity to clear his throat and finish off his glass for the second time.

' _I am so sorry_ ' he mouths, avoiding the gaze of the musician who had presumably been sent by their server.

For the first time of the night, she covers her mouth and tries not to laugh. She is shaking her head as he rolls his eyes, and everything is forgotten as they shake in silent laughter. Roy hides his smile behind his napkin, and Riza ducks her head for a violinist, for his part, is actually very good, but the timing is so poor, and the moment too soft and romantic for their business discussions over their future that it can't help but be funny. Roy thanks the man when he finishes, and moves to the next table.

Food comes as soon as he leaves, and conversation winds its way back into the table's atmosphere.

"I didn't think they'd do that," Roy says, but the second he thinks about it, he knows he normally takes women here to have them 'Ooh' and 'Aah' over the theatrics of the place. "-I mean, not to us."

"Really?" She says, raising a slender brow.

"No. I don't know why I thought they'd leave me alone for once. But the waiter thinks I'm, you know—"

"-I don't."

"-We're here for a special occasion." He emphasizes, giving her a pointed look.

"We are."

"Not like that."

"It's not?"

"He thinks I'm going to propose."

"Oh." She says, blinking over the bottle of champagne that has yet to be uncorked. He watches as the puzzle pieces fall into place for her. "I already said I would marry you."

"-Well I'm not proposing."

"I know that. There's no point in making a production out of it." She says, and normally, Roy would agree, except this is proposing they're talking about, and that seems like the exact sort of thing you'd make a production out of. "-Maybe I should ask you." She adds, thinking on it.

"What?"

"They might leave us alone." She shrugs, moving for the bottle of champagne. In his years of experience with the world of dating and romancing women, he's never had one move to pop the champagne, much less suggest she propose to him. (Unfortunately, he's had many a woman drops hints that he should propose to them, something he'd never before given real thought to.)

"That's not how this works," He says, and he can't help but think that there is a way to do these things, and he has been raised to be as near a gentleman as he could be, and that involves some amount of male pride. Riza, propose? Because it was convenient?

"-I don't see the problem." Riza says, beginning to pour him a flute of champagne.

"Neither of us have rings, for starters," Roy argues, leaning over the table, and lowering his voice. "-I am supposed to take you to a lovely restaurant, or out for a picnic, or something and it's supposed to be romantic, and I need a ring, and I have to get down on one knee—"

"-but,"

"-But nothing, I can't propose to a woman I've never kissed!"

The champagne sloshes slightly when she sets his flute down on the table in front of him. "Whose fault is that?"

"Yours," he says defiantly, before he takes the glass, and begins to drink. There's no need to toast when he's feeling so damned competitive all of a sudden.

"Mine?" She gives him a sharp look, before unceremoniously draining her glass. "Exactly when was I supposed to plant one on my superior officer? When I was handing over paperwork?"

He stops eating long enough to fire back, "It would have been an excellent incentive."

"I wasn't going to bribe you to do your work."

The tables have turned so quickly again, that Roy is beginning to wonder how nothing has spilled yet. "…There have been other times!" He manages, knowing he'll have to take the hit, and move on. That's how sparring matches go - there's no time to lick wounds from the strike.

"We already attracted too much attention. That's what got us separated. They used me to get to you. People still try to do that." This is a warning, and he knows it, but he can't fix his weak spots, he can only hope that she has them protected.

"You could have kissed me on the Promised Day."

"No I couldn't have." She says, before she returns to slicing her chicken.

"Why not? We could have died. That's the perfect time—"

"—I don't believe in dying with regrets." Riza cuts in, the factual manner of the statement jarring with her soft expression. "And I had orders not to die. I didn't see it as necessary."

"You're impossible."

"Hardly." She challenges, and the flicker of a game flashes between meal is hardly important, the food is good, but nothing more than a distraction, and the drinks are what keep the barbs going. He manages a list of times where something might have happened, and she explains away each and every one as being a bad moment. At work, on the job, undercover, while he was dating someone, while they were being monitored, while they were tracking scar, while Grumman threatened to transfer her…

The check rolls around after the champagne bottle has been finished between the two of them, and by then, Roy has decided he no longer cares that the waiter looks rather disappointed that their special occasion is not a theatrical proposal for all to see. He can't help but feel it's really none of his business, and by now, they've spent so much time arguing and then talking, finally conversing that he would rather keep it that way. He doesn't feel like sharing any of these moments with anyone, not even a man who really looks like he could have used the pick me up of a happy ending.

He's not totally drunk, but by the time they head back out into the cool night air, and he's begun to guide her out, he's realized he's flushed. Warmth slides under his ribs and nestles in his chest from the drinks, and his hand naturally moves to her waist as they begin to walk side by side. Riza doesn't push him away, but he suspects it's because she's more focused on not swaying in her heels. Then again, she does lean in and they admire the view of his car for a brief moment.

"We shouldn't drive." She thinks aloud, with a frown. "You're in no condition for it."

Normally Roy would argue that he's not that bad off, but as usual, she's right. It's not worth it, even with mostly empty streets. "My apartment is down the street…"

"-I know that." She says simply, turning away from him and the car. "Come on."

"Where are you going?" He says, admiring the slight roll in her step as she strides away from the car.

"Home for coffee. I thought that would be obvious."

"Home?"

"If you think I'm going to walk to my apartment alone, and in heels with only one pistol in my handbag, you've got to think again," She says, pulling her arms up around her shoulders as she continues to march in the direction of his apartment.

"I was wondering where you'd put it." He smiles, following to catch up with her. "Are you cold, Riza?"

"I'm fine."

"You're shivering."

"Am I?" She says, not bothering to look.

"A little. Take my jacket." He says, stripping the outermost layer off before he balances the silk lapels on her shoulders. He's just close enough to realize she's wearing a deep perfume, something that rings true under the smell of champagne and his cologne lingering on the dinner jacket.

"Thank you," She says, pulling the jacket around her dress, "-Roy."

He smiles instead of answering, and they slowly wind their way to the steps of his apartment, taking careful steps as they climb up. The door is unlocked with ease, but she stands in the entryway as if she is waiting for something. Riza blinks, looking in at his living room (the same as she left it this morning) before she looks back up at Roy.

"If you were looking for an opportunity—" She begins, lifting her chin.

"—No objections?"

She licks her lips. "None that I can think of,"

He has stepped forwards at the suggestion. This is his fault, and he's going to correct his grave error. "-if you insist," He whispers with a small smile, meeting her lips half way. He moves his hand to her chin, and another to the small of her back where he can pull her in. He realizes her perfume is layered with a sweet flower and something deep and warm, maybe even gun oil, and she tastes more like the bubbling champagne than anything else they've had for the evening. The warmth continues to unfurl in his chest, and it takes them a moment to orient themselves around each other, but it is worth the time it takes to do so. He can feel her sharp intake of breath as he kisses her more deeply, and her fingers as they curl around his shirt, gripping his sides. She is leaning into him just enough to take her weight off her heels, and for a moment, there is nothing else but the quiet rush of his heater humming, and them standing in the doorway.

It's a few minutes before he's realized the door has been closed behind them, and she's shed his jacket, where it now lays on his floor.

Something happens when his hands grip her waist, and he pulls away from her.

"I can't—" Touch you, he wants to say, but the blur of his mind has decided that staring at his offending hands is good enough. It's not that he doesn't want to, it's that he can't. Not him. Not her. The things he's done have made him unworthy of even that much -

"-don't." Riza says, her voice suddenly becoming guarded. "Don't say it. Whatever you're going to say is going to be stupid, and wrong, and hurtful." She's let go of him, but her hands hover in the air between them, as if she's unsure if she should drop them to her side.

"Look at me," He says, wanting her to see what he feels. To know that he's done these things with his hands that he would rather not spread. But then, she's done the same things. They both have. Maybe she is right - if he is unworthy, then so is she, and she doesn't seem willing to let herself be denied of that. "-you deserve-"

"-I see you." Her voice wavers for a moment as she holds up a hand to make him stop. "I see a man who did things because he thought they were going to help." She steps forwards again. "We were wrong. We set out to make it right," She levels herself with him, her shoes next to his. "-I see a man who has protected me, and freed me," she takes his hand, twining it with hers before she places it back around her waist. "-and given me a way to redeem myself." She shudders, and breathes deep.

"I decide what I deserve, Roy Mustang." She said softly, the light in her eyes returning as she met him for another, brief kiss. "I know how it feels." She's always known, but the desire in her eyes is not to feel sorry for herself. "-don't lose yourself to this."

"I don't know how." He responds, thinking that it's been so long since he's tried not to.

"Stop thinking." Riza says, reaching for his shirt again, spreading an open palm against his chest, feeling his heart pulse under her fingertips. "-you can't propose before you've kissed me, and meant it." She smiles smally, pulling him in again to bring back the moment, and waiting for him to complete the action, joining her in another kiss that is this time more complete, and more real.

This, he knows, is going to require a real proposal.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mustang's men are just as perceptive as they need to be, perhaps too perceptive.

Every so often, Roy had to remind himself of two things: One, that Sergeant Major Kain Fuery was exceptionally perceptive, and two, that he was also still a bit of a kid compared to the rest of the team. A prodigy in his own right, Fuery was used to being the youngest in everything - his family, the academy, and now the office. It wasn't so much that Fuery was immature, it just so happened to be he was the team's little brother. Roy had been the youngest out of several adopted 'sisters', Riza had been an only child, Breda had been the oldest, and Havoc had been smack in the middle.

Fuery was just the natural younger brother of the group.

The fact that he didn't act like it threw everyone off. Out of all the reactions he could have predicted from his team, Mustang couldn't have expected Fuery's with any accuracy. Kain was quieter than people realized, and perhaps more logical than given credit for. Hawkeye used logic when it suited her; Fuery used it as a basic principle of life.

So when Roy ordered the doors of his office locked before the end of the day, it was Fuery whose eyes met his with curious recognition first. The rest of the team looked confused.

"We have some business to deal with," Roy said looking out over the five faces before him. Two out of three not looking disgruntled wasn't so bad.

"Boss, it's the end of the day…"

"Frankly speaking, Lieutenant Havoc, I don't give a damn." He leaned over his desk, and stood up, rolling a pen under his hands. "I've been given the go-ahead to give the news to my team," Fuery leaned forwards, wide eyes intent on Mustang.

He cringed inwardly. "Starting at the end of this week, my honorable discharge is being made public. There will be a transitional period while they redistribute my office and duties until they appoint a new General."

Silence filled the room, and Riza looked back at him, unblinking. If that was her method of support, it didn't help him feel any less nervous.

"This will effect each and every one of you. I suggest you consider your options carefully before you file requests for your new stations..."

"This is _bullshit_." Havoc spat, leaning forwards in his chair, "What right do they have to discharge you? The hell'd you do?"

"Second Liuetenant." This time it was Riza speaking. "Please allow the General to finish speaking."

Havoc grunted, and Roy nodded gratefully. Might as well keep going. "I assure you I haven't done anything, Lieutenant. Our Fuhrer is planning to retire in another year, and he saw fit to do a little restructuring before he made his final retirement."

He paused, and was met with silence. "You'll be seeing a lot of changes around here, I suspect."

"Are we getting transferred out of Central?" Breda said, leaning back in his chair. He looked deep in thought for a moment, and Roy could tell he was weighing the situation in his head.

"Do you think this means that I'll end up back in Northern?" Falman asked, his long face drawing into a frown.

"I definitely don't want to be put in Southern again." Fuery added, looking back at Mustang.

Havoc looked nothing if not more irritated. "What about you, Hawkeye? Why aren't you saying anything?"

"I requested my discharge papers this morning." She said simply. "I will likely be retiring from the military, if my papers are approved."

" _What?_ What the hell are you getting at Hawkeye?"

"Second Lieutenant Havoc!" Roy reprimanded. "Let us finish." He said, feeling exasperation creep into his voice. "Despite what it looks like, I am being given an opportunity here. With Grumman's retirement, the Government is going to begin restructuring itself."

"Restructuring, sir?" Fuery asked, his gaze flipping between himself and Riza.

"Unfortunately until now, parliament has been controlled by the military and not the people. It is nothing more than a puppet to our Fuhrer, and without a named successor, there is no way to tell who will take his place." He sidestepped his desk and moved to his team's long row of desks.

"No one in our lifetime has been elected to Parliament before, much less been elected with any real power. The citizens of Amestris are being given a chance to change that."

"We're electing a parliament?" Breda asked, shifting in his seat again. Havoc simply rolled his eyes, "The hell does parliament have to do with you?"

"Strictly speaking, Lieutenant Havoc, the Parliament should structurally have control over the legislature of the Amestrian government. However in the the later half of the 1800's…"

"I know what a parliament does. That's not what I'm asking, Falman." Havoc snapped.

Riza sighed, but Fuery cast a questioning look over to Mustang. "Are you going to join parliament, sir?"

"No."

"No?" Havoc said, blond brow raising. His hands fumbled for his box of cigarettes in his desk and he grabbed his lighter from the top drawer.

"Don't smoke in the office," Roy said, glaring at Havoc. "I don't intend to be Chancellor of the Parliament." No, he had looked over the state of the parliament and found it lacking. "I'm running for President."

"President?" Breda said, sharing a look with Havoc.

"The General intends to take the place of the Fuhrer and become an elected representative." Riza explained smoothly.

"As we've not had a President before," Falman began, "-who would elect one?"

"If parliament is going to elect one, the game's already rigged." Havoc noted, crossing his arms.

"Besides the point," Roy replied. "-the people will elect a president by popular vote. The next president of Amestris can dissolve the parliament and elect a cabinet. We can systematically fix the structure of the government if given a chance. We've already started with Ishval, now it's time to think bigger."

"And this will work?" Havoc pressed, despite the slight twitch in Hawkeye's jaw.

"If you would let the General finish…"

"You know Hawkeye, you of all people—"

"Enough!" He snapped. "I am making you all aware that from this point onwards, you have options. You can remain in the military, and file requests for your new stations after the year is over. They will be considered, but you have no guarantees for any placements. I can't promise you you won't end up back in Briggs, or in the South, or anywhere else." He straightened and frowned at Havoc.

"You have another option, of course. You can follow me on the campaign trail." He glanced around the table. "I can't promise you'll get severance pay. At the moment, I can't even promise to pay your salaries at an equal rate. You won't have military care, you won't have financial stability, and I will be more than understanding if you choose to stay in the military. I might even recommend it."

The words fell with finality over the table, but it was again Havoc who spoke first.

"So what you're saying is, you've got nothing to offer us, except another chance to lead Amestris?"

"It'd mean staying in Central," Breda mused thoughtfully.

"Statistically speaking the largest voting block would comprise of Central City, however, the rest of the voting population is distributed throughout the other quadrants of Amestris,"

"Falman, quit it for a moment. You can't factualize this."

"On the contrary, I would argue…" He began, but not before Fuery turned to face Roy. "You'll need a communications specialist," He said helpfully, before Havoc pulled him to the side and leaned over him to interrupt.

"I'm dating Rebecca now." He said, with a frown. Riza scoffed quietly, and Breda rolled his eyes. "Finally," He said under his breath.

Havoc glared and continued, "—I'll be damned if I'm leaving Central, but I don't want to go risking my neck again for you, Mustang. You've got it in that big head of yours that I want something other than a nice quiet desk job now,"

Breda broke into laughter. "Bullshit Havoc, you'd rather be on the field where at least you can smoke,"

"Maybe so, but what the hell would I do in politics? I'm not much for that diplomatic crap."

"I believe we'd assign you to a security retinue," Riza said, "Not to mention that you have experience with the working class of Amestris."

"And why are you on board already, Hawkeye?"

"The General and I decided it was important that we discuss my future plans as his adjutant first. I hope to be managing the campaign for his Presidency."

Havoc smirked. "Well, we all know the General would be useless without you."

Fuery smiled in kind, and looked over at the First Lieutenant. "Certainly it doesn't make sense to have him without Lieutenant Hawkeye. You're always together."

Roy almost choked. Riza, for her part, was more more practiced in keeping a neutral expression, but pointedly avoided his gaze. The team looked over from Fuery to him, and horrifyingly, Breda nodded.

And then Falman looked back to Hawkeye. "In my estimation, First Lieutenant Hawkeye is at the General's side approximately ninety percent of the workday during any given week." He started, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "That percentage comprises total hours of the workday, as compared to possible minutes where the Lieutenant could feasibly accompany the General throughout the day, of which she is by his side one hundred percent of the time. The ten percent difference accounts for bathroom breaks, and meetings between the higher ups." He gestured briefly to indicate meetings with the top brass, before he added another thought. "It also occasionally accounts for coffee breaks, although this morning they arrived to the office together without stopping for coffee. I assume, naturally that they consumed a cup before they arrived to Central Command." Falman said, blinking once as he did so.

Roy gaped. Riza leaned back in her seat for a moment, looking as if she was unsure whether or not to address the comment.

"You know, now that I think of it, he's right." Breda said.

"That," Havoc said, "Is because Mustang favors the First Lieutenant."

"Lieutenant Havoc I would watch your insinuations of favoritism—" Riza warned, her voice suddenly becoming sharp now that she'd finally decided to speak.

"He does see Elizabeth the most." Fuery said with a shrug.

Riza's warnings fell short as she gave a surprised look to Fuery. If she had no well timed response, Roy was even more dumbfounded. There was a moment of silence before Fuery looked about the room as if to validate himself.

"…I'm right, aren't I? That one time on the wire you were talking while you were-"

"Sergeant. I believe we're getting off topic." Roy finished, before he pinched the bridge of his nose. It was times like these that he was reminded simultaneously how much of a pain his men were and how much he cared for them. Most people who irked him were people that he wanted to be rid of. His team, he merely wanted to strangle.

"The choice is ultimately up to each of you. I would more than appreciate having any of you choose to work with me in the future, and have areas I believe each of you and your skill sets would be best suited." He said levelly. "I believe I could win, if I have you all behind me."

Havoc scoffed. "You don't stand a chance in hell without us. I'm in." He grabbed a cigarette from his stash and rolled it between his fingers. "No one needs a cripple in Central anyways, and I think I'd have more fun."

"You're hardly a cripple, Jean." Breda said, with a frown.

"Well I'm walking around with a cane, aren't I? It's not all better." He huffed, flicking his lighter on and off without actually bothering to light up. "Besides, the Lieutenant and I have real excuses. Chronic pains. We're unfit for duty." He said with a wink. "The rest of you lot have to stay behind and hold down the fort."

"He's right." Roy said, cautiously. "If you did want to leave, it wouldn't all be right away."

"We trust that you'll ensure the work of the team carries on as normal with or without us around to verify the work is actually done." Riza added softly.

"And if we want to help?" Breda asked.

"You can't all leave at once. Command would be scrambling for months, but if you met with me as advisers, in private…"

"We could still help." Falman finished. He shifted in his seat, looking slightly uncomfortable as he did so.

Breda leaned on his desk with pursed lips. "Boss, I think we're going to have to stay here." He shrugged. "You need us on the inside. All the major players are going to be coming from here."

Fuery, for his part, looked torn. "I want to help you set up your communications network. But I can keep my eyes and ears here."

Roy nodded, looking for Riza's expression to change. It didn't. He sighed. "I need you all to go home and sleep on the news. I know I have," He said, looking away from Riza. It was better not to continue to make eye contact when discussing sleeping anywhere in front of the rest of the team for the moment. Funny how fraternization laws hadn't really gone away just because he was going to be discharged. "And ultimately, whether you can help or not doesn't have to do with leaving your uniform behind." He backed away from their desks, and strode back over to his own.

"You're all dismissed." He announced, tucking his hands behind his back as he gazed out the window behind his desk. He was met with an echoing chorus of 'Sir!' and the shuffling footsteps of black boots behind him. Roy sighed once - deeply, before he turned, and took a stumbling step backwards as he came face to face with Riza.

"You're still here."

She smiled. "I am."

"I'm not sure that went well," He said honestly.

"I have to say, the favoritism comments were uncalled for," Riza replied, a small humorous look lighting her face. "-but they care. Even if they can't leave, I feel that you're going to have them backing you."

"I know." He looked down for a moment, unsure of what he should say. Falman had been right; they'd had coffee straight from the pot that morning, and hadn't stopped in the break room for a second cup. "About Fuery…"

Riza held up her hand. "He's right,"

"About what we've said? Which time?" Roy said, taking a step closer, leaning on the edge of his desk.

"All of them." She said, amused. Riza hesitated, and then pushed forwards, noting the closed door at the other end of the room. "But I told you, people thought we saw each other."

"I guess Fuery and Falman noticed…"

"You've kept exceptionally observant men on your team."

"I have." He looked down at the shine of his boots for a moment. "You don't have to leave, you know. You're more than due for a promotion here, and you're invaluable to the military."

This time it was Riza who stepped closer to bridge their regulation two feet gap. "Speaking freely," She began, not waiting for any permission to continue. "I did not join the military because I wanted to serve the military. I joined because I wanted to protect the dream of making Amestris a better country. As naive as that has been, I thought I could protect your dream." She inclined her head slightly, the smooth unscarred side of her neck exposed as she did so. "I could protect you, but only from behind. I'm not looking to forge the path, or to rise in the ranks. I want to see you to the top. Whatever that looks like."

"And if I lose? Then what will we do?" There were so many ways this could go wrong so easily, and it felt like they were standing on the edge of a very dangerous cliff.

"Losing is a possibility," She conceded. "But I'm not going to treat it like an option. I believe in you." She bit her lip, before she grabbed the pen off his desk by his hands. It was funny, but in the office, it was close as she could get to squeezing his hand in reassurance. "As for Falman, I'd like to thank you for the coffee this morning."

"Don't mention it." He said with a small smile. "I didn't think anyone would notice that we'd skipped over coffee in the office this morning."

She tucked the pen into her pockets. "I wouldn't mind coffee tomorrow morning as well."

"Tomorrow?" He said, watching the slight lilt in her head, and the spark in her eyes. "I'll get some more coffee, then."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy plans his last day as General with great care.

Riza Hawkeye didn't joke about her coffee.

She had, over the years, joked about plenty of things with dry humor and a hidden smile, but when she rolled out of bed at exactly 6 o'clock in the morning to put her pot on, Roy secretly wished this was also one of those things. It was too _early_ to get up, and the world was too cold outside the warm indents made from their bodies in the mattress on his bed.

Then again, when she came back some odd minutes later with coffee in hand, he supposed he could easily change his mind. She was wearing one of his white button down shirts, with all but one of the ivory buttons left undone, exposing a smooth plane of skin every time she moved that he couldn't help but study. She'd rolled the sleeves up, pushed past her elbows, and carried a difference sort of stance without her guns. The sheaths lay hung over the back of one of his chairs, and without them she seemed lighter. Her blonde hair (now grown out again) was tucked behind her ears, instead of clipped back. He reached gratefully for the cup of coffee, before she folded her leg under her and sat on the edge of the bed, sipping at her own cup.

"You're wearing my shirt." He mused, admiring the way it fell over her figure. The fabric was sheer enough that he could see the heavy maroon lines that fell across her back, and it was funny to see her participate in something so normal while she was so nearly naked.

"I wasn't going to put my uniform on just for this. And I wasn't going to freeze, either." Riza replied before she took a sip of the black coffee in her cup. She grimaced - refusing to drink it with cream or sugar was her way of ensuring she woke up faster - and swallowed.

"I like it," He said with a grin, before he took a sip of his own coffee. After years of her making coffee for him without thinking about it, he was glad to find that his cream and sugar hadn't been denied simply because she was able to drink the stuff straight.

"That's good, because I was going to wear it even if you didn't." She said with a smile, before she glanced about the room. It hadn't taken her long to rummage through his drawers before she'd run into a decent shirt for borrowing. He'd certainly built up more of a wardrobe than she had over the years, considering how many evenings he had to go out and look well dressed. One shirt wasn't going to hurt anything. "I noticed your alarm still hasn't gone off."

"That's because I wake up at seven, instead of six, unlike some people."

"It explains why you're always late to work." Riza mused, leaning over the edge of the bed and grabbing the nearest standard issue military jacket. She caught sight of the stars on the shoulder and threw it at Roy, where it bounced harmlessly off his exposed chest. "You need to get dressed so we can walk Hayate. I'm going to take a shower."

"…Alone?"

"You can't be trusted to keep your hands to yourself long enough to actually get clean." She snorted, finishing the rest of her cup before setting it on the nightstand beside him.

"Try me." He protests, following after her as she heads to the bathroom with a smirk on her face.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It is his last official day as a General, and he can't help but wish the team didn't seem so solemn. The idea that he will no longer serve in an official capacity is what has them all tense. It's not that this is last day in office: it hardly seems the case that he'll be able to fall right out of the team's inner workings without allowing a bridge gap time between himself and the next man up for promotion.

Still, the place has been restless and quiet, and no one has made any such comments as to his morning routine that day. In fact, no one has said much of anything, and while he knows they can't all leave for his sake (even if he wants them to, so very badly) it's irksome to try and pretend like the day is going by as usual.

He breaks the long silence with a heavy sigh, and stands up from his desk, pulling open a drawer. Despite the fact that he and the Lieutenant came to work together, he had managed to sneak in his parting gifts while she was away on lunch break, setting inside his now rather empty drawer for the right time. It seems that now is as good as any time, if only because no one is talking, and that's worse than everyone being unable to shut up.

"All right men, I have some things I need to part with." A black silk bag dangles in his hands, and he holds it up by the drawstrings for them all to see.

"Aw, General…" Havoc complains, and Roy has to admit he's not sure if it's because the gesture seems sappy, or because he knows the emotions are just there under the surface and this would make it that much harder to hold it all in.

He also has to admit he's going to go through with this anyways.

He opens the bag, and dips his hand inside, feeling around for a smooth topper, before he plucks what he is searching for out of the bag. It's not from the set given to him by Grumman, but he holds an elegantly carved and painted white pawn. Had it been tested, they would have found that it unscrewed with a few quick twists. The bottom around the piece was also decorated in a small ring of blue crystals, the color, Roy had thought with amusement, of Royal Blue.

He walked over a few steps to Fuery, and his radio station.

"The pawn. A man of noble heart, and loyal. Always underestimated, but more powerful because of it." He handed the piece to Fuery, who took it carefully within his hands.

"Sir," Fuery said, half in protest and half in admiration at the gift.

He moved again, this time standing before Falman. The Bishop piece rolled easily into his hands, decorated in the same fashion as the piece before it. "For the man who thinks from all angles, and attacks from the sides, the Bishop."

Falman smiled. "Thank you, sir."

Roy hefted the next piece in his hands, a white stallion's head carved into it, its bridle dotted with blue. "The Knight. For the man who can be where you least expect him to be, right when you need him." At this, a smile curved over his face, and Havoc gratefully took the chess piece, tucking it in his hands before he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Damn right I am." Havoc agreed.

"Give it back if you ever manage to get your leave." Roy snorted, and then turned to Breda. "The rook," He said holding up the squat and powerful castle in the air. "-for the man who is straightforwards, and unyielding."

"Boss, it's nice. Really nice." Breda said gratefully. There's a moment of expectant silence as he examines the rook, and Riza sits in quiet silence. She says nothing, and out of the whole group, seems the least concerned about what will happen next. Roy sets the silk bag down and it collapses upon itself.

It's empty.

"Consider these your gifts to remember me by." He says softly, trying to discern Riza's expressions for himself. He hadn't planned on bringing this moment up to her, and had no way of telling if she had been expecting her own piece.

His queen, he thinks, is more regal than anything else.

"I've been honored to have you serve under me for the sake of Amestris." He says, and with that, they all salute, before the words they've all been waiting for finally come tumbling out as Riza allows a small smile to grace her face for the other men. Each of them have come so far to earn their titles, and can recall with stunning accuracy that first moment they were drafted into his team.

And while it's not voiced aloud but they all know that they became a family sometime after that moment, between the missions and saving each other's lives, and it will be hard to be split themselves up again. But like before, they are all well aware that the chess pieces must move on their own, and that if they continue on forwards, they may just win the game. They are his men, and they will still be with him.

It is a feeling Roy savors for the rest of the day, as he prepares for the Queen.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of being discharged, Riza is promoted, and Roy takes the opportunity to work out their plans.

Monday evening held a million questions just begging to be asked.

Roy had chosen to meet up with Riza after her day in the office, grateful for the break from the gossip and curiosity involving his discharge announcement. Considering his rank and his stature, the news had been of much interest to many people, and he’d already dodged a few curious reporters hoping to make the story for the next morning. Riza had provided an excellent barrier to the questioning, and Roy had to appreciate her firm and slightly intimidating gaze as she walked with Hayate on his leash to where Roy stood in the largest park in Central.

“Right on time,” He greeted, inclining his head at her before he bent down to scritch Hayate behind his ears. Riza smiled softly, as Hayate leapt up to Roy’s bent knees, tongue lolling in his mouth.

“Down boy.” She directed, and the pup flattened his belly against the ground playfully.

Roy straightened, and grinned. “Me, or the dog?”

“Both of you.” Riza responded dryly. “Though the dog’s been easier to train.” She said, hiding a smile as she did so. It was easy enough for him to tell though, given her sense of humor that she was lightly teasing him.

He laughed. “There are some things I’m easily trained in…”

“Mm?” Riza replied, directing Hayate to stand back up and begin walking at her side. The park pathways were fairly empty, but Roy still glanced around before he matched Riza’s stride and nodded.

“I think you can guess what that might be.” He pressed, a grin tugging at his features.

“I could,” Riza said carefully, avoiding looking at him. “But that would only encourage you.”

Roy laughed.

Hayate picked up pace, sensing his master was hitting her stride, and he wagged his black tail in excitement as he trotted beside them. For all Riza’s strict training, Hayate still tended to pull at his leash and bound in all directions at every new patch of grass and tree he passed by in Central. He’d always been a dog with a keen nose, and had provided invaluable help during their on and off stations in Ishval from the Eastern Command center by sniffing out trouble at every turn. When she wasn’t looking, Roy tended to slip Riza’s dog a treat or two.

He was just hoping Hayate would continue to cooperate with him today.

“Any word on your discharge request?” He started with, as they hit a comfortable pace.

“Yes.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, as if she was deciding how to best word herself. Riza never rambled, never spoke lightly, but sometimes, Roy wished she would. If only so he could know what was going on inside her head, instead of having to gather everything from the smallest of changes in her demeanor.

Riza tilted her head, and then swallowed. “They’re not discharging me.”

“What?” His intake of breath was so fast that he hissed as he spoke, and his lungs burned as something under his ribcage twisted. The slow cadence of their walk faded from his ears, replaced by a erratic thump. _Why?_

Her voice drifted over the noise that he registered as his heartbeat, and he vaguely noted that she’d told Hayate to heel. He’d already stopped without realizing it.

“They’re promoting me to Captain.” It’d been a promotion she’d refused for years of service, and rightfully long overdue. But now that he wasn’t there, and she wasn’t by his side, the thought of it made Roy tremble.

Riza reached for his hand. “Roy, listen to me,” She began, bringing up the hand that didn’t have Hayate’s leash wrapped around it up to his face. She traced his jawline with her fingers, gently reminding him of the subtle explorations she’d begun of his every contour for the past few days. The tension refused to fade, and he felt like snapping and pulling her against him, despite the fact that they were in public. His hands twitched, and she stepped in closer of her own accord, Hayate tilting his head in confusion at the movement.

Raw honey eyes searched his expression, and she spoke as levelly as she could, knowing he was losing himself to his fears. “-I’m not leaving you.” The words fell between them, and he clung to them. They’d been apart before, and he’d made it without her by his side. It was doable, but…

He squeezed her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles and the back of her hand slowly. Riza looked down, as if searching within herself for the best way to pull back in their barriers. Roy’s heart twisted as he considered the fact that she must have first dealt with this news alone, and he wasn’t reacting in any way to make this easier.

“I’m going to assemble a security team to serve as a governmental protection force.” She looked back up, and raised a brow. “The Fuhrer believes that if there is to be an election, the Amestrian Military needs to protect its political figures for the sake of democracy. A small, but elite squad of men will be assembled for every candidate that chooses to run for office for the sake of National security.” She gave him a slight smile, shifting in her stance ever so slightly. The light of the setting sun had begun to gravitate to her hair, clinging to the gold that shaded her eyes.

“You’ll still have my back,” Roy mused, letting his shoulders slump. “-what a sly bastard.”

“Roy,” Riza said, shaking her head at him. “This is exactly what we need.”

He sighed. “I know. I just, I was so worried…” Her hand fell away from his face, and she tightened her hold on his other hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’ll have to figure out how that changes how we campaign.”

“You’ll do it.”

“-I suppose if you think about it, I still rank above you.”

“You’re no longer in the military’s active duty.” Riza countered, squeezing his hand, and directing Hayate to walk again.

“I never had my State Alchemy status revoked. I still rank equivalent to Major.”

“If you wanted me to keep calling you ‘ _sir_ ’, you could have just said so.” She replied, ducking her head to hide the faint outline of a smile that graced her lips.

“Only when you want to, Riza.” He said easily, eying the bench further down the walk. “I don’t care either way.” When they neared the stone bench, he pulled her aside, tugging at their linked fingers, winking at the confused Hayate. The wonderful thing about animals was that they never told any secrets.

And sometimes, they even helped moved their owners along. “Roy, we’re supposed to be walking Hayate…” Riza said, as Hayate sat and laid down on his front paws, tail wagging in the air.

“He doesn’t look like he’s in a hurry.” Roy said, smiling. “Take a seat.” He encouraged, pulling her to sit with him on the bench. He let her weight lean into him ever so slightly as he pulled, and she adjusted herself as soon as she’d gained her balance on the bench. He nearly laughed at the look she gave him - they weren’t supposed to be too overt in public, considering how his discharge hadn’t been publicly announced, but he didn’t care. It was selfishness and excitement combined, but with every small touch, he found himself wanting more.

“Roy…” Riza said, clearly uncertain if her tone would have to be warning or not. He dropped their hands over his legs, and closed his eyes for a moment before he braced himself, drawing on the natural strength that radiated from her.

“I wanted to talk to you, I thought you needed to know if you were getting discharged,” But she wasn’t, and that didn’t take away the necessity of his words. “But you still need to know—”

“-I know, Roy,”

“—I love you.” He blinked, and she tilted her head at him, amusement spreading across her face. “You know?”

The corners of her lips tugged upwards, and she looked at his hands, tracing the outline of one of the long scars on the back of his palms. She laughed, soft and melodic, like the clear ring of a bell.

“Hawkeye, this isn’t funny…” Roy defended, as Hayate’s ear perked up at the sound of his Master’s voice. Riza’s giggled faded as she doubled over and collected herself, bracing herself on his knee before she straightened.

“I know.” She sobered, and squeezed his hand. “I knew. Hughes knew, too.”

“Hughes saw whatever he wanted to see,”

“Roy.” Riza said, “Hughes told me. You didn’t need to tell him for him to figure it out.”

“He was too smart for his own good.” Roy said with a sigh. Of course Hughes had seen through them, they’d never been half as good at being secretive as they thought they were. Certainly not in the eyes of their mutual ‘brother’. “He never let up when I couldn’t look him in the eye and deny it.”

“I didn’t deny it either and no amount of glaring got him to give it up.” She shook her head.

“We should’ve known better,” He said, rolling his eyes. He slipped his hand out of hers, and pulled it close. “He wanted what was best for us.”

“Which is why I told him that we couldn’t just forget everything and do what he and Gracia did,” Riza said, watching him fumble over her fingers for a moment.

“I want you to marry me,”

“—Roy,”

“ _Riza,_ ” He responded, in equal stubborn force. His hand slipped into his pockets, and he drew out a small, ebony box, rectangular in shape. He eased the box open with his thumb and revealed a small, white chess piece. Riza’s gaze fell to the marble settled over black velvet. Of course. “I need you to be my Queen.” He turned her hand, pressing the piece into her palm.

It was a decent weight, and warmed to her touch as she examined the crown that had been inlaid with the same small stones as the rest of the set had been. “You’re taking this very seriously,” She began, and before she finished he nodded.

“I _am_ trying to propose.”

“I mean the chess pieces.”

“Oh.” Roy said simply.

“Most people would just buy a ring.” Riza pointed out, holding out the piece between her fingers. She smiled. “I thought I wouldn’t get mine.”

“You’re getting both,” Roy said, slipping his hand into his coat pocket once more. He opened the matching box, and held it out for her. A simple and elegant band backed a larger stone, tucked within for her. “Marry me, Riza.”


	9. Chapter 9

There's one flaw in their plan of living together, and it resides entirely in the fact that they are both horribly, notoriously untidy. Riza is efficient, and organized at work, but her apartments have always remained a maze of boxes and objects that never quite get unpacked. Roy is, unsurprisingly, much worse.

Riza notes this when she stares at the pile of socks and shirts in the corner of his bedroom. Half of them are hers, and while it's nice that he keeps his messes banished to one spot, it's worrisome that she can no longer seem to find Hayate in his bedroom.

"Roy," She breathed, hoping to remain calm. "Why are you ironing your shirts?"

Genuine puzzlement broke out over his face. "Because they need ironing."

"You have no clean socks, shirts are the least of your problems." She said pointedly, glancing over at the pile of clothes on the floor. "And have you seen Hayate this morning?"

"Can't say I have, Captain." He said breezily, before his laundry barked once. "...but you might want to try the socks."

Riza sighed, before she kneeled down to push aside dirty socks, a tangled bra, and more of Roy's undershirts before she found a black nose pressing wet against her palm. "My dog is buried under your clothes." She said dryly.

"Our dog," He said with a smile, as he held up his clean, white shirt.

"Don't you start with me, Roy." She said as she stood back up and rolled her eyes at him. She pointed an accusatory finger at his chest, but his eyes flicked to the stone on her finger, still new against her hands. It had taken a significant amount of willpower to not buy the largest stone he could find for the sake of what she rightfully deserved, and instead, had ended up just on the smaller side of large.

Riza had determined that it wouldn't interfere with her guns and that was 'tolerable' which Roy knew meant that she was really pleased with it. As pleased as she could be about something impractical, anyways.

A smile tugged at his features, and he grabbed the pointing finger and pulled her in by her hand. She'd dictated that he had to trade dogtags with her - their spare tags now hanging on the other's chain. Whatever symbolism he'd tried for, and however romantic he might've wanted to have been, there was something quietly reassuring about Riza's practicality and the knowledge that they were literally identifiable as one unit.

He tipped her chin, brushing a warm kiss against her lips before he put her hand down and smiled. Somewhere between the beginning of their kiss, and the moment it had meandered its way into becoming a heated gesture that hinted at remaining only half dressed for the sake of not having to take their clothes off again, the doorbell rang.

It was Riza who broke the kiss - Roy would have just as easily pretended he wasn't home.

"You should see who that is," She said, before she moved to tie the drawstring of his pajama pants, and handed him a robe. Roy pulled a face, and then nodded, pulling his robe around his chest. He might have been a confidant man, but exposing his scars to just anyone wasn't his idea of a good way to start his morning.

He shut the bedroom door behind him, listening as Riza spoke quietly to Hayate, giving a command that he be quiet, before she inevitably began to iron her own shirt. She still had work later that morning, and as her promotion was due to be announced, she needed to appear every bit as professional as she was.

 _She should hold out for 'Colonel'_ , Roy thought, and he made his way to his front door.

The man on the other side looked amusingly infuriated and affronted, his ruddy golden hair and thick mustache accenting his red face and quivering cigar clamped between his teeth. That he managed to look at once so angry and so ridiculous at the same time was a wonder.

"Harrington," Roy greeted. Reginald Harrington, ace reporter for the Central Tribune (The People's Paper), fumed in response, his stocky stature reminding Roy of a certain _other_ ill-tempered and short blonde man. He was talkative, loud, and weaselly, but he knew how to spin a story, and Roy couldn't blame the man for doing his job. He was good at it, and had been Roy's go-to for fair interviews over the years, putting him up as a regular figure in the Central Tribune which was an altogether less Conservative paper than the other alternatives.

He just wasn't sure why his job led him to his front door at 0700 hours.

"Mustang, you're _killing_ me!" Out of what he assumed was a survival instinct, Roy cleared the doorway, stepping to avoid being barreled over by Harrington as he marched in, yanking the unlit cigar from his mouth. "Where's the respect, where's the _loyalty?_ "

Roy could've sworn he heard a muffled snicker from the other room, but a moment passed, and he decided he had probably imagined it. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about, Harrington."

"The hell you don't, you bastard. _Years_ of prettying you up for the papers, and adding _charm_ and liveliness to all that no-nonsense reparations work you've been doing,"

"Harrington, people don't need to know if I can cook or want kids. I was trying to keep the focus on the restoration projects."

"What I'm saying is, I made you human, instead of some crazy work machine. Ladies _loved_ the fact that you know your way around a stove. Tickles everyone's fancies, and gets all the warm and fuzzies out." He fished out a crumpled copy of the Amestrian Times (arch rival paper of the Central Tribune) and waved it under Roy's nose. "And this is what I get in return. Backstabbed! Right between the shoulder blades, and it hurts, Mustang, for all I've done for you-"

"Off the record, Harrington," Roy said dourly. "Shut up."

He glanced at the newsprint held firmly under his gaze, and read the thick black ink - _GENERAL ROY MUSTANG RETIRES FROM MILITARY, FUHRER GRUMMAN ANNOUNCES RETIREMENT PLANS. MORE ON PAGE 5._

Ah, that.

"Yes, _that_." Harrington snapped, making Roy realize he'd voiced his thoughts aloud.

"I was under orders to let the Fuhrer make the call on how he'd announce this to the general public." Roy tried, knowing the excuse was flimsy at best. Harrington frowned. "Look, I would have gone to you if I could,"

"Hmph." The other man grunted. "This is a flimsy piece. Shoddy writing. But they got the scoop on me and I'm not pleased." He said tersely.

"What details was The Amestrian Times given?" Roy said, trying to skim more than the headlines as Harrington's hands shook the paper about.

"Oh the standard press release that we'll get later today, I imagine. You've been discharged, and Grumman's thinking of retiring, which should damn well mean you're running for office, kid, and I should be the _first_ to be told when you can come up with something better than 'no comment',"

"No comment on _that_ , by the way," Roy said, pushing his words in edgewise.

"You've got my vote, Mustang." Harrington said as breezily as he could with his smoker's wheeze. "But I'm still mad at you." He sniffed, taking off his cap, and running a hand through his thinning hair before he replaced it. Harrington eyed Roy's apartment with apparent disdain for the clutter of books, but with a mild interest in the brewing coffee.

"I could really use a cup, Mustang. Start with that and I might feel a little more loving."

"Oh, hell Harrington. I'm not even dressed, and I've got other things to be doing." If he thought he could have thrown the man out easily, he would have attempted it. As it was, Harrington tended to be a pest. Asking him to leave _rudely_ probably wouldn't help him any more than hinting politely would.

"Like telling me about that adjutant of yours. It didn't make the paper this morning, but word on the street is she's being promoted to Captain." Harrington said, helping himself to Roy's dining table and chairs.

"Did the Madame tell you that?" Roy said disinterestedly, as he eyed the coffee maker. He was supposed to bring a cup back to Riza so that they could get dressed, but now he was just contemplating how to quickly get his sudden guest out of his apartments.

"Madame Christmas is sharp as a tack with ears that make me green with envy," Harrington enthused, waving his cigar between two round fingers. "One would _almost_ think you don't see her for the girls, and just go for the hot tips." Harrington probably went for both, but had been in contact with the Madame for years. Longer than Roy cared to think about, and Harrington knew more than the average man about the biggest source of intelligence in the city. Of course the Madame had told Harrington. Because Grumman would have told the Madame.

"One would almost think." Roy said noncommittally, reaching for the finished pot of coffee. The rich warm aroma drifted through the room, and enticed him sweetly with the promise of being perked up. He grabbed a white mug, and poured. "Here's your coffee, Harrington." _Scram_.

Harrington had the audacity to look relaxed. Jovial, even. "So she's being promoted and _you're_ getting fired?" Coffee was slurped down and he barked a laugh. "They always said she did all the real work, Mustang. Pretty harsh."

He didn't have to hear a snicker to imagine one coming from the other room with perfect clarity.

His eyes narrowed. "Harrington, you're overstaying your welcome. I have things to _do_ today."

"Oh, sure kid. But you tell your little Captain that you can get back to her _after_ you set up an interview for my exclusive." Roy stared. Responding was just as incriminating as saying nothing, but Harrington left no room for doubt on the matter of how he'd guessed. Roy blinked.

"Your sister Abigail mentioned you'd been to Barrett House Jewelers as of a few days ago, and dropped enough cenz to make my teeth hurt. You're no longer a General, and _somebody_ finally got their promotion, so you finally manned up, and if I were _you_ ," He said rolling the cigar between his fingers. "I woulda done a few victory laps by now. She can wait for more later."

"Harrington," Roy said warningly.

"Putting it under the name 'Robert' doesn't exactly work when the whole city knows who you are, Mustang."

Roy sighed, and took a swig of coffee.

"You used the name Robert?"

Roy turned, and caught Riza in full uniform walk out of the bedroom. Her hair was now pinned back and Hayate was at her heels, marching nobly by her side.

"Riza, darling," Harrington said with a grin, evidently both delighted to see her end the ruse and disappointed she wasn't dressed in something more obviously incriminating. Roy had it on good faith Harrington wouldn't have written this up in his paper, but even so, he didn't like to pass up juicy details when they were available. The fact that he was right about everything had him tickled pink.

"We were just talking about you. Why don't you show us the rock?"

Riza gave Harrington a look. Roy suspected somehow, that Harrington enjoyed her for being even more of a challenge to get to talk than he was, shutting him down at every turn. "I _heard_ you talking, Reginald."

"Aw, don't be like that, Hawkeye. I've got a job to do. Telling everyone you've bagged Amestris' most popular bachelor is just a part of it. I wasn't really going to write that you were at it like rabbits." He set his cigar down, tapping it against the table absently before his eyes caught on a handwritten paper on the table.

 _First Lady, huh?_

Harrington flashed her what he no doubt thought was a winning smile.

"Harrington, you're not going to be writing anything down until we have an official meeting, _otherwise_ I'll call up the Amestrian Times editor, and _they'll_ have the story."

"I'm hurt, Riza, I'm really hurt. I came all this way to congratulate you, and all you want to do is get rid of me." He picked up the paper on the table, and sucked down his coffee (which Roy hadn't bothered to put sugar or cream in in the hopes that he'd get the hint and leave faster) as he eyed it.

It didn't register to Roy what he was reading until Harrington set the mug down and read off the list. "Loyalty, Intelligence, hardworking," Riza's eyes widened ever so slightly, before she found herself glaring first at Harrington, and then at Roy for letting the man in. "-You know, I'm not really sure well-mannered should be on here. You're not exactly soft in the etiquette category. Threatening guests isn't polite you know."

"Guests are invited places, Harrington." Riza replied coolly, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Roy leaned to snatch his list from the other man, "Give me _that_ ," He said, before he pulled it clean from Harrington's grimy fingers.

Harrington let go with a smile.

"Even your list is too good for you Mustang, but she _really_ takes the cake."

Riza pointedly ignored him, and began to drink her coffee. Her eyes flicked over Harrington for a moment, deciding on just how threatening she felt that morning. She'd never discharge her gun in a warning shot (bullet holes were a bitch to patch up, and the neighbors would be upset, and most importantly, she didn't play with her weapons), but she'd developed a myriad of other intimidation tactics over the last few years.

An icy glare began to form over her mug.

"That's why they call it a better half, Harrington." She said, before she turned to grab a banana from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. "We'll see you this evening at 1800 hours. You can put everything on record _then_."

Roy fought not to smile. He failed, but hid his grin in his mug, brows raised in amusement. "You heard the lady. We'll see you tonight for your interview."

Harrington stood, cup empty and sniffed. "Whipped already. But I'll be back round for your interview, and we can discuss that ring that cost you four million cenz." He waved a hand as he let himself out of the kitchen, chortling to himself as he heard Riza round on her fiance.

" _Four million cenz, Roy?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 Million Cenz would be around $52,000. The Guidebook for the latest movie The Star of Milos says that State Alchemists receive several _billion_ cenz a year. This is in addition to whatever Roy was making at a Lt. General/General previously. To say that Roy is loaded compared to the average citizen is putting it lightly (Remember the estate Shou Tucker lived in?). I don't see him as the type to actually spend all of the money he's been earning on himself, so while I imagine he does spend some of it, he likely has a lot of large investments built up over the years, a few charities he donates to, and has money sequestered in the bank. The ring he bought was the one he chose after Abigail talked him out of buying a bigger, flashier, and more expensive ring. Riza doesn't object to the ring, and knows Roy can afford it, but on principle, it's too much! Barrett House and the pseudonym "Robert" are shout-outs to poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning and her husband Robert Browning. (A Browning is also a type of pistol, incidentally.) It's why Riza is amused/bemused by his choice of name.
> 
> Reginald Harrington, reporter for the Central Tribune decided to make his debut this chapter, and is connected with the Madame Christmas. We'll probably see more of him since Roy is well aware of the importance of having the Media on his side. ;)


	10. Chapter 10

He might have been a civilian, but Harrington had the profoundly annoying ability to be precisely on time at 1800 hours. Riza, for her part, seemed unperturbed as she sat down at the kitchen table, still in her military blues, and Roy sat beside her, eying the recorder on the table.

“You got a funny look on your face Mustang,” Harrington commented, before Riza’s eyes narrowed. “Ready to begin?”

Riza nodded, and Roy leaned against the wall from his seat. “Fire away.”

“Your discharge from the Military was announced this morning. Having spent your whole career as an Officer, a General at that, how do you feel about leaving?”

“I’ll miss my team. I joined the military because I thought it was the best way to serve this country, to protect its people. But I think there are other things I can do to serve this country, and I’ll pursue them.”

“You’re talking about running for President.”

Roy laughed. “The Fuhrer’s not out of office yet.”

“He announced his retirement today as well.” Harrington pointed out, Riza watching on silently, her breathing even under the hum of the recorder.

“He did.” Roy conceded. “The next leader of Amestris will have to keep in mind what’s best for this country. And for the first time, he’ll also have to earn the people’s vote.”  
“Do you think you’re that man?”

“I believe I will do what’s best for Amestris. But am I the man who will earn the support of the people? I’ll have to find out.” Roy said, a sort of quiet pride taking over the atmosphere of the room. Harrington’s brow raised, and Roy continued. “—I’m running for President. And I hope the people will support me.”

Harrington nodded, as if he’d finally managed to get Roy to say the right thing. Maybe he had. “Speaking of which, I have sources that say you’ve finally secured one built-in supporter. Since she’s here with us…tell us about your fiancee.”

Roy blinked, and then caught himself. “Yesterday, I proposed to my ex-adjutant, Captain Riza Hawkeye. My best friend Maes Hughes, before he passed, told me I’d need to find someone to stand by my side and support me that I could marry.” He looked over at Riza who nodded silently, taking his hand into her own. “I didn’t have to look for her. She was already doing that.”

“When did this relationship start? As your aide-” Harrington began, before Riza cleared her throat, and finally spoke.

“Roy was a consummate professional when we worked together. We’ve only been dating for this week.”

“—That might seem a bit rushed, only one formal date, and then a proposal, but we’ve known each other for nearly twenty years. She’s my best friend.”

“Twenty years?”

Riza nodded, and then, eying the recorder, spoke. “We’ve known each other awhile. Fraternization laws prevent officers from dating their commanders, so getting engaged is our way of making up for lost time.”

“I’ll say,” Harrington said, with a chuckle. “You only needed one date to know you were in love? Signing on to support his presidential campaign, that’s a lot…”

Although her grip on Roy’s hand tightened for a moment, Riza’s features relaxed as she looked over at Harrington. He truly was trying to do the right thing by interviewing them, and was as much of a friend as a reporter could be. She had no reason to be on guard, Roy thought.

“…It was a very nice date.” Riza said simply, humor crossing her features. She looked over at Roy, catching his gaze with her hers, as if she were willing him to remember the finer details of the evening.

Roy smiled, “I thought so.”

Harrington cleared his throat loudly, and Roy turned, glaring at the man across the table. Riza looked less perturbed, but her eyes narrowed all the same. 

“How’d you break it to your team?”

At this, Riza smiled openly. “ _I_ told them.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

At exactly 0900 hours that morning, the newly minted Captain Riza Hawkeye had strode into the office where they’d been stationed. She walked past the row of desks pushed together to her own seat at the end of the group, and sat down to pull out the large informational packet about the team she’d be organizing. One by one, the rest of the team filed in, and sat down at their desks.

At 0910 hours, in the middle of her third page of her briefing, Havoc leaned over. “Holy shit, Hawkeye.” He announced loudly.

“Lieutenant Havoc,” She sighed in response, eyes fluttering closed in exasperation. “Is there something you need to say?”

“Yeah, where the _hell_ did you get that rock?”

Riza set the briefing down, and gave Havoc an even stare. Fuery, Falman, and Breda had all stopped what they were doing, and were staring in confusion. Havoc scratched his goatee, and grinned, gesturing to the engagement ring.

“It was given to me.” Riza said, picking up her briefing again.

“No shit, Hawkeye—” Havoc began before Riza flicked her gaze upwards again, and _glared_. “— _Captain_. That’s an engagement ring.”

“Excellent observation, Lieutenant.”

Fuery squeaked. Breda raised a brow, and Falman leaned forwards to scrutinize her fingers, no doubt recalling a slew of facts about rings that no one needed to know.

“In ancient Xerxes,” He began, as if on cue, “Wedding bands were worn on the ring finger because of its direct connection to the heart via a vein—”

“—You _finally_ did it.” Havoc continued, as if he hadn’t noticed Falman speaking at all. He caught Breda’s eye, who chuckled, and Riza narrowed her eyes. “You tamed the Mustang.”

Fuery, who’d been nervously fiddling with his fingers, pushed back from his desk. “I knew it! I _told_ you! I told _all_ of you!” His open palm shot out at Breda who snorted, and reached into his jacket pocket for a wad of bills.

“You’re such a romantic kid. It was a _lucky guess_.”

Riza turned, watching Fuery collect on whatever bet he’d made. “You’re all incorrigible.”

“-But we’re right,” Havoc said with a smug look. “Right?”

Fuery looked over, as Breda’s hands hovered in the air. Falman had stopped reciting the history of engagement rings, and Havoc was leaning over his desk accusingly.

Riza sighed deeply. She turned the page of her briefing, and after a moment’s pause, spoke: “Roy was always tamed.”

The sounds of laughter from the team were cut off as Riza raised a brow at the rest of them, as if to say, _but so were all of you_.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“They took it well?” Harrington asked.

“Well enough.” Riza replied carefully, not meeting Roy’s questioning look.

“What about you, Mr. Mustang? Have you begun to inform ex-girlfriends? You’ve been Amestris’ most eligible bachelor for some time. And now…”

Roy had the decency to pretend he was somewhat sheepish about the matter. “I only proposed _yesterday_. Some of them might find out in the papers, if you publish tomorrow.”

Harrington laughed, and mouthed the word ‘ _coward_ ’. Roy ignored him pointedly, and pressed on. “The important women in my life know.”

“You told your foster mother, already?”

“We called her yesterday.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It had taken a significant amount of maneuvering, but they’d managed to fit into the phone booth at the park, knee to knee and hip to hip with Hayate between their feet, and the phone cord tangled around Roy’s arm.

The door of the booth clicked shut, and Hayate promptly sat on top of Roy’s feet, making himself comfortable. Roy took the receiver in his hands, and juggled the wire. “I promised I’d call Madame Christmas.” He said, leaning against the phone.

“I’m not stopping you.” Riza said, unable to move enough to fold her arms.

“Well do you have some cenz, because…” He dangled the phone between them by its cord. “…I’m out of pocket change.” Roy grinned, awkwardly moving to brush back his already casually ruffled black hair, and he draped his arm over the phone box.

Riza stared at him, blinking at him once. “You’re serious.”

“What makes you think I would be joking?” He asked, face falling from its usual cocky countenance. “I just bought you a ring. _And_ a custom chess piece. Sorry I don’t have any change on me…”

Riza sighed, reaching to fish a few cenz out of her purse. “You’re incredible.”

“I think so,” Roy replied breezily, holding out his hand. Riza rolled her eyes as she pressed a few coins into his hand. “-What’s yours is mine, after all.”

Riza stared blankly. “Just call your mother.”

“Alright, alright,” He replied, trying not to disturb Hayate as he twisted and fed the coins into the payphone slot. When the dial tone whined in his ear, he quickly spun the dial, ringing out the number to the bar.

It rung for a few seconds, and Roy held his breath as Riza leaned against the glass wall of the booth. Then, the ringing stopped, and Roy was greeted with a breathless but perky greeting. “This is Madame Christmas’s Bar, where every evening is a gift. What can I do for you, Handsome?”

“-Vanessa?” Roy responded, as Riza cocked her head to the side, listening to the muffled voice.

The scream that hit his ear was loud enough that he yanked the receiver back as far as he could manage. Hayate barked in surprise, and Roy shot Riza a desperate look, as if willing her to take the phone.

 _No. Your family. Your phone call_.

“Roy did she say yes?!” Vanessa squealed, voice gaining in decibel even as he held the phone away from his ear. It was evident that she leaned away from the phone to bellow out, “— _Madame! Roy’s on the line, I think she said yes—!”_ Roy pointed at the phone, cautiously gesturing a circular loop with his fingers - _nuts, all of them_ \- before he put the phone back to his ear.

“She said yes, didn’t she? Oh, tell me she did, Roy. You’re so hopeless sometimes, and if you messed this one up—”

Riza fought an expression on her face that betrayed laughter. She bit her lip.

“Vanessa she’s right _here_.” Roy said, shoulders slumping. “She said yes.”

Vanessa whooped, and began speaking so quickly that it was hard to catch everything she was saying. Roy made out the words ‘bachelorette party’ and ‘sealed the deal’  before the phone was mercifully removed from her hands, and the giggles of the girls faded as the phone traded hands.

” ‘bout damn time, Roy Boy.” Madame rasped. “You tell her that if anything goes wrong, we’ll help her hide your body.”

“Yes, Madame. I think she knows.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Riza smiled. “He proposed in the park. We called from the pay phone.”

“From there, we…we went to see my best friend’s widow.” Roy said finally, voice having gone quiet. “Gracia is wonderful. And her daughter, Elysia…”

As if sensing the loss of words on Roy’s behalf, Riza picked up the sentence easily, continuing for the both of them. “It was important that we include them both. So we went to see them.”

Roy recovered, and gave a small laugh. “We have an eager Flower girl lined up.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Janie said,” Elysia greeted them at the door with, “—that boys buy you big diamonds if they really like you, ‘an they wanna get married.” She sucked in another breath, pigtails shaking as she did so. “Like, _like_ like. Uncle Roy must really like you.” Elysia added, glancing at Riza’s ring finger.

“Size isn’t what matters, Elysia.” Roy stammered, leaning over to greet her with a hug as she pulled open the door, her mother at her heels, coming down the stairwell.

“Yeah, but, look!” She cried, wiggling into a hug before throwing herself at Riza. “You got Auntie Riza a big one!”

“Well,” Gracia said, sweeping in from behind her daughter. “-size doesn’t _hurt_ , hmm?”

Roy opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed his mouth with a soft click of his teeth. He turned to Riza, and raised a black brow. She didn’t dignify it with a response, and instead, ruffled Elysia’s hair affectionately.

“Sorry we didn’t call, Gracia.” She said, straightening at the waist, with Elysia still wrapped around her legs. Riza held the little girl’s elbows, and began to awkwardly step inside with Elysia wrapped around her.

“Elysia, dear, you’re a little too big to keep doing that,” Gracia said, stepping back to allow them into the house.

“It’s fine,” Riza said, swinging them both over the threshold. “I’ve hauled worse.”

Roy chose to ignore _that_ comment, and stepped in beside her, closing the front door behind them. “How’d you know it was us at the door?” He asked, knowing full well that Elysia wasn’t allowed to open the door to strangers.

“I saw you two out the second story windows. As for why you both came, it was a hunch. Congratulations. Maes would be so happy.” Gracia said, stepping in to envelope them both into a hug. Riza accepted it gracefully, but Roy leaned, pressing a soft “ _Thank you_ ,” to Gracia’s ear.

Riza stepped back, pulling Elysia with her, and the four of them blinked at each other. it was Elysia who broke the moment first, effervescent and easy. “Auntie Riza is going to be so _pretty_. Can I have a new dress, Mama? Do I get to be the flower girl?” She bounced. “ _Please, Auntie Riza?”_

“Elysia-” Gracia warned, before Riza held up her hand.

“I think,” Roy began, as Riza smoothly finished his sentence, “—I don’t know any one better for the job.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"So," Harrington said, clicking off the recorder. "--off the record,"

Roy sighed heavily, and Harrington glared at him, leaning elbows on the table, chin in hand. "Shut up, Mustang. Am I invited?"

Riza glanced at Roy, who met her gaze.

 _Your wedding._ He willed.

 _Your reporter_. Her eyes read back.

"Well, we do need the press corps on hand to report the event..." Roy said carefully. "And if you bring Thompson, we won't need a photographer."

"Cheapskates." Harrington sniffed, holding back a smile. "I expect my invitation in the mail any day now. This is going to be the wedding of the century."

"We're hoping for just the wedding of a lifetime, Harrington." Roy replied.

Harrington gave a low whistle, and a mournful look. "Is that off the record too? That was good."

Roy and Riza both shrugged, as Harrington reached over for the recorder, and clicked it back on. "It was good. I'm using it." He said desicively before turning on them both again. "Let's talk politics..."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say Olivier Armstrong?

The steps of Central Command were crowded with journalists. Riza hadn't questioned why Roy had offered to drive her to work the next morning, but when he parked, he wished her good luck, and she suddenly realized why she'd be needing it.

Reporters had formed tight ranks on the steps, and they'd spent the morning thus far swarming over anyone who looked even remotely like they might be interesting or rank above a Sergeant. Riza fit both categories with ease, and as she approached the crowd with disinterest, a buzz started.

 _"Is that--?"_

 _"It is!"_

"Miss Hawkeye!" A voice shouted, before the half dozen or so others followed it. Riza turned to look behind her, Roy's car still idling in the street. So he was watching her enter Central. _She could take care of herself, but..._

But even Riza was perturbed by her personal space being invaded. Hands and notepads were shoved before her face, and Riza stared them all down stoically, ignoring every cry of "Miss Hawkeye, would you care to comment?" tossed her way.

"--Captain Hawkeye!" A familiar voice shouted over the crowd. Riza looked up, spotting Harrington in the throng of people. She didn't smile, but her eyes lit up at the purposeful use of her new title. Harrington did have a few things going for him. She nodded over at him, and he pushed forwards, pressing a copy of the _Tribune_ into her hands. Reporters jostled them both, but Riza stood firm, and read the headline -- _HIS FIANCEE AT HIS SIDE, ROY MUSTANG GUNS FOR THE PRESIDENCY._

Riza's lips quirked at the corners of her mouth. It was clever, but got to the point, and, as her gaze dropped below the large black serif text, she saw a picture of the two of them, standing side by side. It took her a moment to register where the picture was from: neither of them were in uniform, but she stood smiling warmly at his side as he gave the camera a personable grin. It had been Elysia's last birthday, and she'd worn a modest blouse and fitted skirt, while Roy had worn a day suit. It was a casual picture, but out of context, she supposed they looked very much like the couple they had purported to be.

She looked up, brows registering slight, questioning surprise. Harrington shrugged, as if to insinuate that of course he had his sources for such things. And knowing that he was in the Madame's network, he most certainly did. She folded the newspaper, and tucked it under her arm with a quiet note of thanks before she stepped to move forwards again up the steps.

The voices picked back up as she moved.

"Miss Hawkeye, how do you feel about marrying a man who's been known as a charmer?"

"-Miss Hawkeye, how long have you been in love with your superior officer?"

"Miss Hawkeye, is Roy Mustang marrying you in order to curry favor?"

Riza hesitated on the fifth step boots remaining on the edge of the next step. Her eyes narrowed, and she felt a heat creep up her neck, jaw clenching as she held back an iced retort; instead reminding herself that this _was_ something they were doing in part for political reasons. But she also knew it wasn't _just_ that; that their marriage wasn't just going to be some game they were playing. Riza looked over her shoulder at the young, twenty-something man who'd called out the last question, his auburn hair and freckles hidden by spectacles making him hard to miss. She met him with a level stare. "No." Riza said firmly. "He's marrying me because he loves me."

The young man before her stuttered to say something else, but another voice cut over the din, loud and clear. "Captain Hawkeye! Good Morning," the voice said, and Riza looked up, locating the source of the voice.

She straightened, hand moving upwards into a proper salute as the older man made his way down the steps to her. Sunlight bounced off his greying blonde hair, and deeply set dark blue eyes. "General Rigel, Sir." she greeted, feet snapping together.

"At ease, Captain." Rigel said, waving a hand. "I've come in to report from the West today. Come to find out that Central Command is flooded with reporters..."

"Indeed, Sir; the Fuhrer's retirement and his request for the upcoming elections seems to be quite newsworthy." Riza said, stepping towards the Western General as she pushed through the crowd.

"General Rigel, would you care to comment on Roy Mustang's latest announcement--?" A mousy woman demanded, notepad in hand. Rigel tilted his head towards Riza with a generous smile. "Yes," He said, eyes flicking to her briefly, something unreadable crossing them. "Congratulations are in order, Captain. For your promotion, and your engagement, I believe."

"Thank you, Sir." she said, eyebrows raising, but expression firmly in place. It was kind of him to congratulate her, but she would have rather avoided continuing to speak to the press.

"Out of my way!" A female voice snapped, blonde hair swinging behind her. General Armstrong glared icily at the crowd at she moved down the front steps, "Some of us have work to be accomplishing in running this country _right now_ ," She seethed. Olivier placed her hand on the pommel of her sword suggestively, letting sunlight bounce off of the hilt as she made her way towards Riza and Rigel.

"Ah, _Olivier_ ," Rigel greeted, nodding his head. Riza recognized the look of distaste on his face, a look shared by many others in the Senior Staff who frequently had to deal with Armstrong's forthright and unforgiving personality.

"Nicholas." She said flatly, lips pursing in equal disapproval. "If you're not keeping the Captain, I need her."

"By all means," Rigel said, as Riza saluted Olivier. "-I was just commenting on the downpour of the Amestrian Press today..."

"Fascinating. Truly." Olivier said dryly, tossing her head and narrowly scrutinizing Hawkeye. Riza said nothing, but dropped her hand to her side. "Follow me, Captain."

"Yes, Sir. Good day, General Rigel, sir." Riza replied, following Olivier as she turned on her heel and strode back up the stairs, a twinkle of light hitting her hair. 

"Damned press." the female General grumbled, pulling her Black Briggs issue coat around her neck. The reporters fell back, uncertain -- or perhaps unwilling -- to follow after the famed Armstrong.

The rest of the walk into Central Command went undisturbed, and Riza heard the soft noise of a car pulling away from the front parkways. Roy had waited until Olivier showed, and Riza had reached the front doors to leave. She filed the information away for later, and kept pace with the General, footsteps falling into rhythm as she led the way into the halls of Central Command silently.

Olivier only paused to mutter that, "I don't _like_ Rigel."

But then as Riza well knew, Olivier didn't like many people. She herself knew the man very little, having only met him after he jumped ranks after the Promised Day, and seen him on the few occasions both he and Roy had been present in Central for Senior Staff meetings.

Armstrong maintained her silence after that.

Riza knew better than to ask any questions, but she felt them coming to mind anyways - curious to know what Olivier was 'borrowing' her for, and even _more_ curious to find out what Olivier was doing in Central.

When Olivier finally spoke up, her voice filled the halls as she made for her Central Office. "Grumman didn't _just_ tell your pathetic Fiance, if you were wondering." she said, opening her office door. Olivier walked in, and sat behind her desk, propping her feet onto its polished mahogany surface.

She waved at Riza to close the door behind her.

"The Fuhrer seemed to believe I might _also_ lower myself to fighting with the other brainless politicians and Presidential hopefuls in this Country." Olivier steepled her fingers beneath her chin, and glared. "Have a seat, Captain." She offered, taking out a flask from her top drawer, as well as two cups.

"Sir." Riza replied instinctively.

"Tea." Olivier stated. "Better than that coffee you and Mustang drink." Olivier poured Riza a cup, and continued as Riza seated herself in front of the General silently.

"As _enthralling_ as running for President sounds, I'm not interested. I clawed my way to the top of the Military, and you'd have to pry that from my cold _dead_ hands." She handed Riza her cup. "But Mustang's serious about running. He, quite frankly, has no choice. And he finally managed to get the balls to propose to you." she mused, staring down at her earl grey.

"It wouldn't have been appropriate for him to have done so sooner." Riza said, humor lighting her eyes.

" _Tch_." Olivier snorted. "My point _is_ , that selfish, _egotistical_ bastard didn't bother to mention his political aspirations to me. And whether or not you're marrying him, he's still an idiot." She ranted, downing her tea in one harsh swallow. Riza wondered with bemusement if the General was secretly wishing her Earl Grey was Drachman Vodka instead.

"He's figured out that he won't get off the ground without you, but he won't get anywhere without _me_."

"...Can you clarify Sir?" Riza asked diplomatically. She received a huff in return.

"He who strikes first wins. But as Roy knows, you need an unstoppable offense _and_ an impenetrable defense." She folded her arms. "Every idiot with two cenz to rub together and a bit of slimy ambition is going to try to run. They'll flatten him. But between you and me, we can make sure Amestris elects the right idiot to lead this country towards a Republic. As head of the Armstrong Family, I can _fund_ this campaign. You'll need our clout if you want to get anywhere."

Riza fought not to smile. "You would have Roy lead the Country?"

Olivier looked nauseated. "And on my tab for the time being. No, I'm not stupid. The other choices are worse. _Much_ worse. I'm not going to have some prick ruin everything I've worked for just because I want to hit Mustang hard in his solar plexus every time I see his face."

Riza calmly took a sip of tea, studying the General's irritated tapping of her fingers against the arm of her chair. "Of course," Olivier said after a moments hesitation as she inspected her fingernails (for dirt or blood, Riza imagined briefly), "-I have my own expectations that should be met."

"I wouldn't expect any different." Riza replied honestly, setting her small cup down. Olivier smirked. "Which is why I'm talking to _you_ at the moment, and not Roy." she said, sounding almost warm in her tone. Riza suspected Olivier liked her in part because she was good at her job and in part because there was always a bit of camaraderie between female officers, but she also suspected Olivier simply enjoyed egging Roy on by approaching her. She'd been given invitations to Briggs before that she'd never considered, but had always politely deferred. That Olivier would make this deal through her was just another part of the game they played.

"First, I'm included in all campaign updates. If someone so much as _sneezes_ funny, I want to know. Second, I want in on the formation of the new military policy when it comes to it, and _third_ ," Olivier emphasized, brushing her blonde hair back from her face. "-you let my mother host your wedding. It would, in fact, make her year, as she won't be hosting _mine_ any time soon. On top of which, my mother does nothing but host stupid, pretentious, newsworthy events."

Riza's brows disappeared under her hawk wing's fringe, and she leaned back in her chair, cupping the tea in her hands. She looked down, and thought about Roy's car idling in the lot until she entered the Command Center. Her ring stood out against the tin cup, diamond's sparkle caught by the beam of the office overhead lights. She supposed that other women would have found this romantic, but the idea of a wedding...

The _reality_ of a wedding was counterpoint to her expectations of a marriage. Love, protection, duty, and passion were all there, all so easy to conjure if she admitted it, and she did, there was no denying she loved him; but weddings were presentations. They were pretentious, as Olivier might say, newsworthy events. Which of course, likely meant that Roy had some ideas about how to go about it.

She took a deep breath. "It would be practical." Riza said, absently tapping her ring with her finger. Practical, she thought, and perhaps less of a hassle. "I'm sure your mother is a lovely woman," Riza said out of a sense of social etiquette, as Olivier rolled her eyes, "-and you're the best partner we could have in this race. Roy knows that."

Olivier rolled her shoulders.

"Captain, I believe we're supposed to pity the bastard who gets 'tied' down, and congratulate the bride, but in your case I believe I can make an exception." she smirked, nudging the cup with a gloved finger.

"--Roy's never had a luckier day in his life, and I wouldn't be you right now for the world."

"Permission to speak freely, sir." Riza said, lips quirking at their corners.

"Permission granted, Captain Hawkeye."

"It's not such a bad place to be, General." she said with a smile.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Riza would have liked to think the media circus would have been gone by five o'clock, but it's clear that it hasn't, and surprisingly, the fervor of it all hasn't died down either. Camera lights popped against the setting sun, and she blinked furiously, eyes readjusting as she made out what they were taking pictures of.

Roy grinned up at her, leaning nonchalantly against his parked car as he waited patiently. His smile was caught under the brilliant bursts of light as he waved, and then suddenly, the cameras were turned upon her. Circles of red and blue danced in front of her eyes as she strode forwards, biting her tongue to keep from commenting on the fact that he'd been intentionally putting on a show for the cameras.

Riza offered up a small smile as he moved, opening the door for her.

"Busy day?" He asked, noting the stack of thick envelopes in her hands tied shut by twine.

"Yes," She said, slipping into the car as she adjusted her uniform and glanced away from the cameras. Roy closed her door shut behind her with a soft snap, and walked around the back of the car and got into the driver's seat. He revved the engine, and pulled away from Command thoughtfully.

"I have a surprise when we get back to my apartment," Roy commented, keeping his eyes on the road as he slid his fingers across the leather of the steering wheel. "But more importantly, I received a rather irate call from Armstrong after I got off the phone to confirm with Gracia that we were still attending Elysia's dance recital this week."

"So I don't need to tell you about our conversation this morning?"

Roy laughed. "No." he said, as he turned the car off Central Avenue. "But I do feel like you should be aware of the fact that by marrying me, you will also be an heir to the Armstrong Estate in the case of the death of the head of the family-" He frowned, "-which would be Olivier, of course."

"Heir to the Estate?"

Roy nodded once, and then glanced at Riza out of the corner of his eyes. "Before the Coup, Olivier named me as the heir to her Estate in her will. I have a copy, and her lawyer has a copy. The inheritance goes to myself, anyone I might marry, and children, if..." He trailed off, before clearing his throat. "She thought that if she died, I might need a base of operations."

"And you didn't think to mention this then?" Riza asked.

"She didn't want it to become public knowledge," Roy replied, before shrugging his shoulders upwards into a slight, sheepish wince. "Alright, I didn't think it would be important unless she died, which I didn't want to happen, contrary to anyone's popular belief."

"I was never under the impression you would have wanted anyone to have died." Riza said, straightening the envelopes in her lap. Within one envelope was a stack of instructions and regulations for the Fuhrer's personal guard, and within another was the foundations of the upcoming election, the process laid out from the office of Grumman himself, and stamped in approval by Parliament. She tucked in the edge of the flap of the second envelope, and looked over softly at Roy. Olivier had been right; they needed her to help them back their campaign, even with Roy's considerable funds waiting to be drawn upon.

"Of course not," Roy said. "-but people only see the power plays. With her out of the way, the path would be clear. That sort of thing." he looked over his shoulder as he turned. "We challenge each other. They don't see that."

"They don't see how you help each other." she mused, smiling over at him. Roy nodded slowly. Riza paused, "She told you the details of her agreement?"

"Of course." he grinned, pulling the car into the side alley for parking beside his apartment building. "I have to say it certainly solves a few problems for us..." Roy parked, and stepped out of the car, moving to Riza's side to open the door.

"It does."

"-You won't believe my surprise though," He said excitedly, changing subjects.

"You mentioned that..." Riza took her folders into her hands and stepped out of the car, keeping an even pace as they marched up the three flights of stairs to his flat. Roy grinned in return, shaking his head instead of answering her. She knew that excited look, and tried not to sigh at the boyish light of mischievousness in his eyes.

Roy stopped when he reached the door.

Something was wrong. The front door was open a crack, as if the wood had been forced open from the lock. He frowned, and looked at Riza, whose hands immediately went to her gun. "I didn't leave the door unlocked." He explained softly, nudging open the door.

He tugged a glove onto his right hand firmly, letting the oak door swing open, and he stepped over the threshold of his apartment. Riza's .45 came up beside his shoulder, and he gasped when he saw what had broke the lock on his door.

" _Olivier?_ "

The blonde woman smiled at the head of a large solid table, gloved hands folded over the table. "Took you long enough." She said, raising a brow with a pink grin. The dark wood added a heavy presence to the room, and a handful of faces seated there turned to look at them. Roy lowered his hand as he caught his mother's gaze at the far end of the table. Harrington ducked his head on the same side of the table, trying to stifle a laugh, and a large woman sneered down her narrow nose beside Olivier.

"What did you do with my _couch?_ " Roy cried, as Riza holstered her gun.

"I take it this isn't the surprise?" Riza asked sardonically. He gave her a baleful look as he stripped his glove from his hand and tucked back into his waist pocket. "No, I found a dog..." he mumbled.

A white mass of fur curled by the feet of Olivier's chair twitched, an ear perking. "Really Mustang, I didn't expect you to be the type to just start bringing animals home..." Olivier drawled, motioning to the empty chair at the other head of the table.

"--Nevermind that, _where_ is my couch, _what_ did you do with my coffee table, and _how_ did you break into my apartment in the twenty minutes I was gone?"

Madame Christmas looked away.

Olivier smiled. "Thirty minutes. And I donated them to charity. They were hideous."

"General Armstrong, Sir, is there any reason why...you're here?" Riza asked, trying not to let confusion cross her features. True, there had been several hours since she'd last seen the General, but with only thirty minutes to spare, it didn't make sense that she was holding council in their living room.

"Take a seat, Captain Hawkeye, and I'll explain." Olivier said, waving a hand towards a seat beside a thin brunette woman. The other woman had small, blue eyes that darted to glance at Hawkeye, as if she was quickly making decisions based on what she saw. Another empty seat was placed between the Madame and Harrington, and Riza's brow furrowed. She didn't recognize either of the women, or the mustached man next to the younger brunette, and she assumed the other man to the left of Harrington was his photographer.

Madame Christmas raised a painted brow.

"Take a seat, darlin' " She encouraged.

At that moment, Gracia Hughes strolled out of the kitchen, a smile on her face. "Oh, excellent Roy, you're here."

"What are you all doing in my house--?" He repeated, moving for the seat. Olivier pressed her lips together, waiting for him to sit. Gracia shot them both a sheepish smile as she took her seat at the table that had been plopped into the living room.

Roy sat, and Riza joined the chair beside him, their knees bumping against each other as they crowded into the packed table. Roy grumbled under his breath as Riza looked over at him, and then over at the white dog curled by Olivier. "You found a dog?" She asked quietly, as she placed her folders onto the table.

"Her name's Daisy." He said with a frown as Olivier scoffed from across the table. The woman beside Riza leaned back, and pushed against Roy's door, snapping it shut behind them.

"Well then," Olivier said, leaning forwards. "-if we can get past how I got here..." she said, as Roy leaned forwards over the table.

"--It's called breaking and entering!" Roy cried, placing his palms onto the table.

"I leaned on the door." Olivier shot back, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Now if you're done, let's get started with introductions,"

"She _broke in_ and threw out my couch and my coffee table, and brought my mother..." He muttered, to Riza as she hesitantly reached to pat him gently on the hand. He frowned and sat back down, pouting.

Olivier snorted. "As I was saying, since we all know who I am--" She said, clearing her throat. "To my left is Marie-Louise Armstrong. Also known as my mother." The elder Armstrong nodded primly. "Her specialty is events coordination, if there's something that needs planning, you turn to her. We're starting with the wedding."

"Indeed." Marie-Louise agreed.

"Beside her," Olivier continued, nodding over at the man with the black mustache. "-is Johann Domwell, head of the opposition in Parliament." He tipped his bowler hat. "Domwell would be head of the Progressives if Parliament managed to actually have parties. He's been working in the Government for over fifteen years. Anything that happens in Parliament he knows about."

Her blue eyes flicked to the other woman at the table. "To his left is Emma Whitelaw, deputy head of the opposition. Whitelaw eats, breathes, and sleeps economics, law, and international relations. If someone tries to instigate a tariff, Whitelaw knows how that will effect the entire country. If Domwell doesn't know, Whitelaw does." The woman named Emma smiled. Oliver nodded. "Whitelaw knows everything."

Oliver turned to her right.

"To my right is a woman known to you all as the Madame Christmas. Her specialty is intelligence. I don't ask how she knows what she does, and you shouldn't either."

Chris Mustang smiled, pulling out a cigarette to roll between her fingers. "I don't see why Roy Boy doesn't get along with you, General." She said warmly as Olivier continued.

"-the Madame knows more about your personal histories than I could intimidate out of any of you. She runs a bar in Central if you ever need a drink."

Gracia Hughes smiled sweetly as Olivier's gaze turned to her.

"Gracia Hughes. The Architect. That's not a metaphor, if you've seen the newly restored Central Library, you know what Gracia's work looks like. Her specialty is also intelligence, but more importantly, she knows the people."

Gracia nodded. "I also have cookies in the oven..."

Oliver shrugged. "To her right is Reginald Harrington, political reporter for the Tribune. His partner, George Thompson, photographer. Our inside connection to the press."

Riza nodded firmly, and Roy realized they'd come full circle around the table.

"Captain Riza Hawkeye," Olivier said firmly. "-long time loyal friend, and Fiancee. Her specialty is marksmanship, and she knows more about guns and safety than anyone else. She's devising an elite security team for our _Candidate_..."

The table turned to look at Roy.

Olivier paused for effect, straightening stiffly. "Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, and Hero of the Restoration. Don't look pleased Mustang, it's not a nickname I gave you. This idiot is our man. His dumbfounded expression is there because I threw out his furniture and invited you all here because he forgot to mention he was running for Office until this morning." Olivier sneered. "Your apartment is a mess."

"I wasn't expecting company," Roy gritted between his teeth.

"Surprise." Armstrong said, with a note in her voice that Riza interpreted as glee. "Let's get to work boys," The General commanded, looking away from him. "--we have a lot to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The newspaper headline was given to me by the lovely Riza-Hawkeye-RP, she's wonderful and one of the Rizas I roleplay with on tumblr.


	12. Chapter 12

The council in Roy Mustang’s living room didn’t last very long before it broke out into power struggles. The fact that they’d gotten twenty minutes in before the first argument between Roy and Olivier had truly started, was a miracle, Riza supposed, and she fought not to sigh as she shared a look with Gracia from across the table.

“Get your feet off my table while we’re strategizing” Roy demanded, flattening his palm against the polished wood as he stood and leaned forwards, glaring at the General at the other end of the table. Olivier’s boots wriggled in response and she pushed back in her chair.

“This is my table. I bought it. And I will do whatever I damn well please.” She shot back, daring her mother to do anything more than sniff with distaste down her nose at her daughter’s poor manners.

“And this is my apartment. Get your boots off the table. No one can think with your dirt flaking off onto the table where we’re all planning on eating at.” Roy said, jaw twitching as he clenched it. The table paused as a stare off between Armstrong and Mustang ensued, black eyes meeting blue in as near a clash of weapons as they could get without actually drawing swords and gloves in the living room.

The two members of Parliament to Riza’s left exchanged looks with each other; Johann Domwell withdrawing a pocket watch from coat’s breast pocket to check the time as his partner pulled out her leather briefcase; Emma Whitelaw quietly removing several sheaves of paper from her portfolio, and placing them in a stack on the table. Olivier’s feet swung off the table with a grunt of annoyance, and Roy relaxed his shoulders, sitting back down in his chair. He didn’t bother thanking her, and instead pursed his lips, waiting for the silence to be lifted from the table by someone else. Whitelaw brushed her greying brown hair back from her face, and cleared her throat.

Riza straightened, and looked over at her. She wore a light grey suit coat and a rather elaborate white button down blouse that cascaded into ruffles from her neck, and a long matching grey skirt that fell about the same length as regulation military skirts did. She cleared her throat a second time, waiting for Olivier’s ice blue eyes to snap to her in response. “Domwell and I have agreed that the smartest first step would be to organize an official party.” She said, passing the stack of papers to Riza, motioning for her to take the top page and pass it on. At the top of stack, Riza read the list out in her mind: a list of names divided up into different categories she couldn’t differentiate.

“A united group,” Domwell supplied, “-that will back the campaign in a numerous amount of ways, both ideologically, and monetarily.” Roy took his paper and examined the names that he recognized carefully, with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Allies. Of course.” He said, passing the paper onwards.

“Allies, but not all friends.” Olivier said bluntly, draping her arm over the armrest of her chair. The papers traded hands several more times, stopping with Olivier’s copy, as she stared down the list. Armstrong snorted, though whether or not it was because she was unimpressed remained to be seen.

“No, of course not Olivier. I would have never thought you’d be that sentimental.” “Oh shut up, Mustang.” Olivier spat back, crossing her arms. Her mother gave her an affronted look, which she pointedly ignored. The table fell silent to a series of exasperated and bemused looks while Emma pulled out a pen, and jotted down an note to herself on her pad of paper. When she was done, she popped the cap of her ballpoint pen onto the top of it, and laid it down beside her paper.

“Obviously, the people here will form the foundation of the campaign team,” She said, cutting across Olivier’s sneer. “We are all here for a specific purpose, but limiting your resources to just the men and women at this table would severely hold you back.” Another scribble was made across the stack of papers they’d passed out. “You all have with you a list of suitable party supporters.” Domwell took the opportunity to snort, and lean forwards. “-And if this were a list of people we wanted to be friends with, it would be half as long. But they’re people we want, which is what matters.”

Riza raised a brow, and Olivier nodded. Roy frowned. “Why these people? If they’re not people we could be friends with, why them?”

Mrs. Armstrong sniffed deeply, and tapped her manicured nails on the table. “Mister Mustang, if you only rub elbows with pleasant people, you’ll find you’ll be quite alone in the world of movers and shakers.”

“Or high society,” Olivier added, with a knowing look. The Armstrongs were a good family, but they weren’t surrounded by people who were equally pleasant. And while Olivier could be abrasive, brash, and even rude, she was at the very least predictable and honest. That couldn’t be said for every family flush with cash. Domwell inclined his head with a nod.

“The following is a list of the richest, greediest, most ambitious, and least corrupt people we could find in Amestris. They all want the same thing - to feel like they’ll have a say when you get into office. These people are in politics, in the military, in trade and business, technology, and into gambling. Some of them are nice people, but the great majority of them are mildly dislikable at best, and I would argue that after a few months of this, you might include us in that definition.”

“Well, at least you’re honest,” Madame Christmas rasped, her painted brows raising in amusement as she folded her hands beneath her chin. “I never liked politicians much to begin with. A whole lot of slimy bastards.”

“We try,” Emma responded dryly. “That said, we have two objectives for this evening. To form the political party that will back Roy Mustang for Fuhrer President, and to begin planning the wedding event of the year. Gracia, if you would please...”

“-Oh, of course! While the lovely Marie-Louise is in charge of planning our events, I’ll be in charge of orchestrating the invitations. It may sound difficult to believe, but between us both, we know most everyone on here. While Reginald already announced your engagement in the papers, we’ll be throwing an engagement celebration next week.” Gracia said with a smile, showing off her own wedding ring as she gestured in the air to Riza’s hand.

“...The people invited, will, of course, be both family and friends, as well as the men and women you both need to meet and convince you’re the next leaders of Amestris.” Mrs. Armstrong filled in. “People we want in the Amestrian National Progressive Party?” Riza asked, carefully scanning the papers before her as she mentally catalogued faces to pair with the names on the lists. “If you’d like to call it that.” Harrington said with a sly look.

“The ANP. I could work with that. Could be something catchy."

Roy ignored the naming games that suddenly punched the table with slews of clever wordplay and acronyms, and focused on the third page of the lists he'd been given. The names he spotted there were printed in neat type-written lines that made him want to sigh in preemptive exhaustion and exasperation. Riza paused her part of the discussion, and looked over her fiancé's shoulder curiously. When the reason for his sighing became clear she turned back to the discussion at hand. Roy let another few moments slip by as he rubbed his temples and leaned forwards over the table.

"Why is Edward Elric on this list?" He demanded. The table paused, Olivier only bothering to continue sneering icily Roy's direction. The Madame looked away for a moment, as if to claim innocence and to swipe on another layer of deep aubergine lipstick, and Whitelaw and Domwell exchanged battling looks before Whitelaw set her papers aside.

Gracia spoke up first.

"He's invited to the wedding, of course. I thought the Elrics would enjoy seeing you both--"

"--With all due respect Gracia, please don't try and pretend he's only on our political potentials list because he's a well behaved wedding guest in the making." Roy said, irritation seeping into his voice. Riza set her hand over his under the table, before she gave him a stern look. "-I'm sure Edward will behave just fine."

Whitelaw nodded slowly. "With all due respect, sir, we didn't just put the Elrics, or Edward in particular on this list because we thought it would make for an excellent invitation. Edward has a…certain draw that has connected him to a multitude of people."

"He won't do it. He'll refuse, pointblank." Roy said flatly.

Olivier made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat in response, lips curling in annoyance. "Coward."

"-Oh of course, just because I know that he's washed his hands of politics means I'm a coward--"

"--Actually, Roy," Gracia cut in firmly. "-We've already asked Edward to be a part of your campaign team. He seemed more than enthusiastic to join, after I told him he could make the Best Man's speech at your wedding. I thought he'd be able to say something very fitting, at the end of all of this."

Roy blinked simply, before turning to Riza. Her expression was light, but she hadn't let her amusement escape her eyes yet, although her gaze sparked further as he gave her an agonized look.

"How do you feel about eloping?" He pleaded.

"I don't do shotgun weddings." Riza replied calmly, lips curving into a smile. "I think Edward helping us is an excellent choice. When should we expect him in Central?"

A ding went off in the kitchen, and Gracia excused herself from the table with a smile. "Tomorrow Morning." she said breezily.

Roy groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this is late. Sorry.


End file.
